


As Long as It's You

by Neros



Series: Super 'Villian' Sons [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Robin (Comics), Robin: Son of Batman (Comics), Super Sons (Comics), Superboy (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: A different kind of love, Adventure & Romance, Ancient Egyptian Literature & Mythology, Blood and Gore, Damian Al Ghul - Freeform, Damian Wayne Feels, Damian is lost without him, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Reunions, Feelings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jon is cheesy, Jon loves him, Jon loves puns, Kissing, Knifeplay, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Read if you want to feel something., Rough Kissing, Rutting, Smut, So much kissing, Talia is a practical mom, Teen Romance, The cutest thing ever., Worship, its love, ok maybe a little obsession
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-07-08 14:36:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15932474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neros/pseuds/Neros
Summary: Jon would say it's love. Others would call it obsession. Whatever it was, it's landed him inside the League of Assassins after Damian's fallout with Bruce forced the youngest Robin to return to his ancestral home. Will Jon manage to keep his sense of justice, family ties and sanity untouched while living inside the world's largest assassination syndicate? Or will the price for loving Damianal Ghulprove to be too much to bear?~Jon breathed the melody in, and kissed the pulse, again and again, sprinkling it with reverent kisses. The very same pulse which held him grounded to this world and his own sense of self, his anchor in more ways than one.Update: New 4th chapter added!





	1. As Long as It's You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **~Important Note** : This work is inspired and **loosely** based on the events that took place in Batman Beyond (2016) #9-11.
> 
> **~Main outfits for this chapter:**
> 
> **Damian's / 21 / 5'5:**[Green and emeral robe.](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/6d/a5/64/6da5641b498137773ec855fbbab81c6b.png)
> 
>  **Jon's / 19 / 6'3: His**[usual](http://heroes-and-comics.tumblr.com/image/173159831633) S jacket and jeans combo. 
> 
> (I found Damian's outfit inspiration on Pinterest, If you know the artist please say so, and I'll credit them)

_In front of the emerald and gold throne, three steps down from the dais Damian Wayne stood with dignity and the knowing look of his **power**  over the being that knelt before him._ 

 

> "Break off my arms, I'll take hold of you
> 
> with my heart as with a hand.
> 
> Stop my heart, and my brain will start to beat.
> 
> And if you consume my brain with fire,
> 
> I'll feel you burn in every drop of my blood.”

~

Jon knelt before him, his scuffed left knee brushing the marbled stone as he kissed Damian’s hand, first the knuckles (1, 2, 3, 4, 5) and then turning it around to brush his lips on the pulse produced by his wrist.

He stayed there for a second, just enjoying the feeling of the skin jumping slightly to the sound underneath.

_'Thump-Thump'_

_'Thump-Thump'_

He breathed the melody in, and kissed the pulse, again and again, sprinkling it with reverent kisses. The very same pulse which held him grounded to this world and his own sense of self, his anchor in more ways than one. Because even the sound of the roaring Himalayan winds could not drown the steady heartbeat that centered him to the present moment, nor could the rapid flow of the Sutlej river surpass the blood flow of the veins that calmed his mind.

He planted one last peck before bringing the hand he worshipped back to the center of his forehead.

“Dami, I swear I’ll prove myself on tomorrow’s mission, I won’t let you down!”

“Of that, I have no doubt, beloved,” Damian softly, the same way his mother used to on Infinity island, but this time with all the appropriate sentiment he knew were lacking in her slithering words.

He was once again slightly taken aback by Jon’s deferential display, for as always it was not necessary for him to do such things as his  _only_  equal nor was it something that Damian demanded of his super-powered companion, but somehow this soon became the natural order of things, and he admitted it wasn’t to his dislike.

Damian stared at the door down the long ornate hall. “But today, you may yet to prove something,” He said taking back his hand as he walked up to his rightful seat as the head of the League of Assassins.

Jon stood, confused by the cryptic phrasing.

“For we have a visitor.”

The room suddenly shook as the two massive copper doors at the end of the hall rumbled open.

“Wha-?”

“Jon! Sweetie, I’m here to talk!”

“We found her climbing at the steps of our territory with frostbite on her feet, the guards brought her to the prisoner encampment a few minutes ago and immediately reported it to me as they are trained to do,” Damian said.

“Our healer did what she could before any more extensive damage to the nerves endings were done” He continued “Though more could’ve been done had your mother not struggled peevishly under her care” Damian glared at the shivering figure while accommodating himself in his throne. He crossed his legs, body shifting to the side so his elbow rested on the ornate armrest of the throne. His arm was doing its part to support the chin as he stared curiously to the display that would unfold.

It was Lois Lane, her sickly and pale composure a hit in the gut to Jon. (God, she looked so thin)

“Mom…”

Athletes all over the world prepared for months before embarking on the grueling climb that was the Himalayan mountain range; foundation, aerobic, stamina, and peaking…yet here was his mother with some Big bear vacation jacket and equipment, a single frozen and unbranded water bottle hanging loosely from her hip.

Was she that desperate she would come all this way on her own? his dad… yeah, his dad probably couldn't stop her (That’s Mom for you!) but he must’ve been keeping an eye on her from the skies, there’s no way she could’ve made it alive otherwise. His face scrunched just thinking about what an excruciating ordeal it must have been for her, she’s just human after all.

Why? Why did she have to be here? His stomach felt like it was going to fall off its container at the thought of it. Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have had Manakish for breakfast. In the end, he’d already said everything he could say to his mom the day before he left with Dami to their little paradise in snowy hell.

Lois limped through the immense doors as they opened, she tripped but got herself back up, tripped again, this time to her knees. She began to crawl her way to Jon's feet at the foot of the dais where he stood. Jon sparred her the humiliating journey and went to her instead, helping his mother up only to crumble to her knee’s again, the pain from the frostbite marked clearly on her face.

The scene made Damian’s face contort in disgust.

 _'To allow the weak to live is a disservice to them and nature itself_.'

Talia’s voice echoed in the darkest chamber of his mind. Blood rushed to his feet and arms, it rumbled in his skull, answering the primal call of a fight or flight response.

Jon glanced at him from the side of his peripheral vision, probably sensing the rush of blood. (control it)

He didn’t want to but he could very clearly imagine it, going right up to Lois in her weakest state and breaking her neck, quick, simple and painless. Every fiber of his instinct called to action, the instinct his grandfather and _she_ so meticulously braided into his subconsciousness.

(Do it, it would be mercy, one less parasite dragging mother earth into a cesspool of filth.)

 _A hero can be anyone_ -  _Batman_

_His mind paused. (controlling it)_

_“-tt-”_

Damian was actually, very surprisingly, not expecting his mother-in-law to pay them a visit today, making him reconsider the mistake of not planting a tracker on her long ago.

 A potentially idiotic lapse in judgment knowing the deep seethed hate she bore him to the point where he half expected her to be plotting his demise on a daily basis, that thing- (breath)  _Mother in law_  - he strained mentally - crawling at the leg of his beloved also happened to be the single biggest threat to their partnership.

But Jon wouldn’t have liked him tracking his parents and so he made a compromise to keep out of their lives because losing his best friend, beloved and most trusted ally for the sake of this lowly pleb-  _Mother in law,_ was not a risk worth taking in any measured scenario. (Also, the fact that if Jon had asked it was almost impossible to lie to him, but that’s beside the point.)

“Jon please!” she cried at boy’s feet “Please come back home, baby!”

“Mom…”

“I made your favorite dessert, apple pecan pie! Just like you like it, sweetie. Oh! and Kathy the girl next door, you know the pretty blonde one? Well, she’s been asking about you a lot! she calls me every week asking how you’ve been and baby I think she likes you!”

Damian scowled, he would need to revisit this  _Kathy_ woman’s files.

“What I’m saying is there’s still a place for you at home baby, just please come back and snap out of this…this THING! that you have with that EVI-

“Watch your malignant tongue  _mother-in-law_ , I may have you a deep respect as Jon’s bearer, but you are in  _our_  home so we expect dignity of language as you expect it in yours!” Damian hissed almost getting off his throne.

Lois glared at him with the deep seethed hatred of an overlord who was stripped of everything by his enemy, if looks could kill…

“Don’t you FUCKING dare call me that, don’t you dare!”

Oh, the  _nerve_  of this indecorous, lowly- In one swift movement Damian stood up and took his trusted katana from its hilt, his right arm already stretched backward like a baseball pitcher ready to strike someone out,  _permanently_.

“Damian stop!” Jon yelled, flying between him and his trembling target.

The al Ghul's body shook slightly as he brought the abrupt swing to a full stop.

“-tt-” he tutted while sheathing his katana, and like a child who was reprimanded for bad behavior he crossed his arms and dipped low into his emerald encrusted throne.

“Mom, don’t provoke him,” Jon sighed “And we’ve already discussed this, it's like the only thing you ever talk about when I come over to visit.” Hopefully, this wouldn’t end with his boyfriend killing his mom.

“Remember how you used to tell me that dad and I were- are your everything?” he asked scratching his nose “Well, Damian is that to me, sorry do I sound dumb? I just don’t know how many ways I can say this to you so you’ll understand, not like in a condescending way, I would never, Damian does that a lot, but in a cute way but um…eh..” 

Everyone stared at him. Damian face-palmed and faintly shook his head in stoic embarrassment.

Ugh, someone please kill him. (Sorry D!)

“Look, I’m just following my heart just like you and pops taught me, and mom it’s all him, my world feels like it’s falling apart when I’m not with him”

“Cheeseball,” Damian coughed.

“Well, it’s true!” And to some degree, it was actually quite literal. Jon had been trained by Damian from a very critical and early Kryptonian stage of development.

When the world’s noise was threatening to tear his body and mind apart with the screams…

_'Mommy help me!'_

_'No don’t, uncle please,'_

_'I’m so hungry,'_

_'Please just take the money, don’t hurt her!'_

They echoed from everywhere, coming from all over the world, voices haunting his every waking moment but then Damian saved him.

~

It was a hot summer night in Jon’s bedroom. He was kneeling at the edge of his bed, exhausted from flying all day long. First to Egypt, then Mexico, then that place with the really good bean soup that lady he saved made for him (Morocco?) and 24 other countries he was too tired to remember. He couldn't help noticed the floor was littered with dirty clothes, toys and unfinished homework including a couple of  _absent_  notices from his school, ugh... better hide those before mom finds them.

The clock marked 10:02 PM

_‘Help me!’_

_‘Noo! Please spare him, he’s just a boy’_

‘Mommy!’

…

“Stop, stop, STOP!” Jon screamed.

He smashed his forehead against the railing that supported his bed, bending the rigid metal until it broke.

His forehead started bleeding. His mom and dad barged into the room.

He passed out.

The clock marked 3:37 AM

Jon opened his eyes as he rested on his angled bed. His window was making clinking noise, the sound of a lock being picked (Click!). Damian. He’s the only one who could pick it so fast, he could also hear his steady heartbeat from this distance. He had suggested to keep it open to make it easier for him to come in for their night patrol escapades but his stubborn friend insisted that would be  _Idiotic,_ that if _he wanted to get in, he would, the old-fashioned way._ That way _Jon would know if it was him or not, depending on the speed of the lock-picking process,_ confident he was the best in the world _._

The clock marked 3:45 AM

Damian sat on the floor with a shaking and tired Superboy, the alien’s bandaged head resting tightly on his lap. He stiffly patted his damp raven hair, clearly not used to showing affection of any kind.

“Your bed…”

“Please, just do it Dami.” Jon shivered, a fever threatening to envelop him, clearly seeking passage through his currently weak immune system. His dad had given him some helpful tips on controlling his super hearing, but he said it took time, something Jon felt he didn’t have anymore, it was driving him crazy!

“Jon, continuous Lack of oxygen to the brain could cause irreversible brain damage, the consequences are dire, a very real threat with you being only half Kryptonian”

“Please….” He begged, “The way you do it hurts less, I also don’t wanna wake up feeling like I got hit by the planet's biggest mallet.”

“Jon…I believe to have a more practical idea, a temporary shortcut of sorts whose effects may be immediate, though, it’s a little unorthodox and may in the long run cause more damag-

“What! Really!? Jon coughed “Dude, like anything to make it quiet, at this point I would honestly put chicken eggs in my ears if I had too!”

“I don’t bring such a remedy, Jon…I also don’t have chickens…” He hesitated, contemplating the future implications of his solution.

“Just try to listen to me…”

“What? I am listeni-”

“No dufus, I mean  _really_  listen, let my movement and rhythm be the center point of your concentration, and everything else be noise you can _choose_ to let in.”

He grabbed the shaking hand and brought it to his chest “Let me be the only noise in your ears, every slight movement, no matter how small, be a tidal wave to your senses”

“Ptff!

“What!? It was a very serious proposal I don’t-!” Damian snapped a slight hue to his cheeks.

Jon wiped a tear from his eye “I know, I know!” He tried recreating the grumpiest look he could muster “I DON’T JOKE.”

“It just sounded so ha-ha …romantic Dami,” he laughed wiping a tear from his eye. He cleared this throat and continued “But seriously can you explain what you mean? A little less poetically would be great aha-ha”

~

Let’s just say, the next day his dad was very proud, a milestone he celebrated by going to Morocco with Damian.

But the thing was that... that  _temporary_  solution became his permanent crutch, never quite learning to tune out the  _noise_  without Damian’s steady rhythm to drown it all out.

“Jo-n..” his mother croaked “I love your father and you with all my soul and would do anything for you boys”

“Exactly!” Jon exclaimed

“BUT that’s because you’re my son and because your father and I maintain a strong and  _healthy_  relationship that brings out the best in each of us, it’s  _completely_  different from what you think you have with  _him_ , which does the exact opposite, can’t you see he only brings out the worst in you sweetie! remember that time, you know, when you almost killed that man with the scar because he scratched  _his_  face, if it wasn’t for your father coming in on time, you would be a killer! Because of  _him_!”

Damian leered, remembering that day clearly (Case file #234, Carl Torrenti). The buffoon had managed to miraculously cut his face with a magical whip he stole from the Metropolis’s very own Santorum Chamber of Relics. The bleeding wound obviously looked far worse than it actually was because Jon  _snapped_  (The idiot probably thinking he would foolishly die from it.)

“Sweetie, what you have is not based on real love or anything even close to it, it’s warped and obsessive and honest to God you deserve better, I mean just look at where we are” She gestured towards the cold and looming walls of the throne room.

“This den of assassins, killers, murderers, rapi—"

“Watch your cretinous tongue woman!” Damian exclaimed, pushing himself off his seat as he punched the armrests of the throne, just  _knowing_  the line she was about to cross, an overstep that would merit her death a thousand times over. If there was one thing he wasn’t it was  _that_ , and he would  _slowly_  slit the throat of any associate who dared even think…

Lois bit her words, hurriedly grabbing the edge of Jon’s jacket in fear and, he just… stared down at her, in silent understanding to Damian’s backlash at her words.

“This- this just isn’t you” she continued “You belong under the sunny skies at home, eating apple pecan pie and going on normal dates with girls- or boys from your University, while me and your dad embarrass you in front of them with baby stories, not--” she choked tears now dripping profusely from her eyes “No-t… this, you deserve so much better than  _this_ , than  _him._ ”

“ _Him,_  has a name,” Damian bit.

Jon glared at his short-tempered lover then sighed, rubbing the pressure point between his eyes. Honestly, could this get any wor-? Darnit Jon! haven’t you watched enough movies to know you don’t even  _think_  those words (May the bad luck gods have mercy on his soul.)

“Mom, you just keep saying the same things any time we talk about this, why can’t you just…”

And like an exclamation to his plea the doors to the throne room smashed open, it was his Dad.

Worst. Family. Reunion. EVER.

Over 30 ninja-outfitted guards came running in “Sir apologies he, just- “

“You are all dismissed” Damian sneered “Expect swift punishment for your failure after I’m done here.”

“YES, SIR!” A unison chorus shouted, the guards then turned to exit the hall, their faces all cast with the shadow of shame.

“Lois!” Superman exclaimed as saw his wife crying next to his son's feet and Jon swore the room got 50 degrees colder “What are you doing to your mother!?”

“Dad, wait, I haven-“  he never got the chance to finish because less than a second later he felt a cold grip around his throat.

Damian hastily stood (god, he hated surprises) and without hesitation he pressed the tiny button pressed to his waist sash. Of course, not even the love he felt towards his beloved would delude him from having the necessary precautions for one such Kryptonian invader. (Operation big and angry father-in-law breaks into their lair, begin.)

Suddenly the whole hall shook, hidden machinery sprouted from the walls like sentient basement doors and in an instant over a hundred green lasers pointed neatly at Superman, a massive ball of green light adorning his forehead ever so ready to impale him a ton’s worth of kryptonite photons through his skull.

“Wait, don’t Damian!” Jon shouted, managing to release his father's iron grip around his neck with relative ease.

It was during an arm-wrestling challenge at aunt Kara’s place that he first found out he was stronger than his dad.

~

An event meant for laughs and giggles turned into his silent chance to test out the spoils of his special training with Damian. He was kinda obsessed with trying to  _train him to be the best,_ (the very best, that no one ever was!) something about wanting an equal _._  Would it make a difference? (Damian insisted it would, saying mutated Kryptonian blood could, in theory, bring out more power than it’s- blah-blah)

He was curious. Was he at least close to matching his pops?

“Ok, boys play fair and don’t worry about my table, she can handle it,” Kara winked, holding both their fist in the correct starting placement.

“Go!”

After the rush of adrenaline faded Jon opened his eyes to see his dad’s fist resting on the losing side, his face just as stunned. Holy smokes.

~

“Honey it’s alright, I just came to talk to our boy about coming home,” She said wiping the tears from her cheeks. She forced herself to stand up and wobbled towards her husband, who looked to be in shock, careful not to put too much pressure on her injured feet. Superman snapped out of it and looked down toward her legs.

“Oh, this is just something that happened while I was climbing up here Dear, I wish I could say someone else did it to me,” She glared at Damian, “But alas it was silly ol’ me, really should’ve prepared more, huh.”

“Lois!” Clark called as he went to her, carefully lifting up her body up to his arms so her feet wouldn’t touch the floor. “I’m so sorry L, you really should've at least let me help you on the way up!” He continued, hurt with every letter that came after, “And just how many times have we discussed this? Jon has made a  _choice_  to join the League and YES, it's a regretful one, but L we have to trust he’ll snap out of it on his own not like this, not by force.” 

“But that’s exactly that’s why we need to try our best! Our son isn’t in his right mind to make those kinds of decisions!” Lois insisted.

“In what sane world would our boy be part of a criminal organization who makes it their business to KILL, do you expect me to just wait at home for him to change his mind!? No! can't you see it's just a matter of time before he kills someone in this hell hole!? He’s obviously being manipulated or brainwashed or something Clark! This is the time for us to help our son in any way we can,  _not_  try to understand his sickness!”

Lois would not- _could not_ accept this union. Anyone but the head of a group of assassins, anyone but _him_. She couldn't recall how many times her boy almost (accidentally) killed or died trying to protect that demon, only to be treated coldly for any unnoticeable mistake. And don't get her started on their past night patrols and training where her little angel would come home either beat up or half-dead.

Now he's living with death itself, even saying he's in  _'love'_ with _it_. Oh, he felt something alright but love wasn't it, getting hurt, almost dying, being abused in mind, body, and soul, that _couldn't_ be love, it just couldn't (just teens and their crazy hormones).

She sighed mentally- Honestly, all she and Clark wanted for Jon was a relatively normal life (within the limits of being a hero) and wow was this as far from it as it got. And Lois swore on her life Jon would not ride into a body bag, prison or a damn bloody sunshine with that hellspawn if she had anything to say about it.

“Sheesh Mom, is that what you think this is?” Jon choked out, wounded to the core that his mom thought he wasn’t making a conscious decision to love Damian. That what he felt was  _sick_.

“And  _that is exactly why_  you need to be cautious Lois, the Kryptonian Jon Samuel Kent and his unpredictable association to Damian  _al Ghul_  have categorized both of them as level S supervillains, you were reckless coming up here,” Said a very distinguishable deep voice as it entered the hall.

“Why did you bring  _him_  along Clark!? He’s the one who started all this!”

“Father, what a surprise~ (not). Truly was not expecting such convivial family reunion,” Damian quipped, sitting up from his throne, arms crossed.

Unlike Jon’s parents and close relatives, he did keep clear surveillance on his own family’s actions, observing the manor every day up from his covert satellites for irregular activity. After all, Batman presented a very practical threat to his and Jon’s partnership. This was In very clear contrast to his beloved’s boy scout of a patriarch, who knew to keep a dignified distance before his son’s choices. His father, on the other hand, was a much less understanding individual.

No doubt the bat was also scanning Damian’s activities daily for any clear evidence of a criminal act committed, probably wanting nothing more than to throw both their behinds in the Arkham asylum to rot.

As if he would let that happen. He would rather slaughter Gotham’s entire population than to let Jon even smell that trash bin.

Of course, he let him into his territory on purpose, he felt it prudent knowing his father’s tendency to try to de-escalate any situation. It could prove useful in a room with two disagreeing Kryptonians. Damian was also confident Bruce wouldn’t find anything that could implicate him or Jon and that his preparations could subdue or even kill anyone in that room if necessary (Except Jon, of course). He hoped it didn’t have to get to that point.

Jon hovered to Damian side in front of the throne, his Kryptonian father left behind still a little bit in shock at his silent loss.

With his right, Jon took Damian’s left hand and gently kneaded the skin beneath his palm. Damian stared up at him, tempted to pull away but refusing to back down.

“Did you know?” Jon asked as he stared at their fingers mingling in a dance.  _He_   _tightened his grip_ , making Damian wince for a microsecond, just enough for only Jon to notice (and he noticed everything when it came to him).

“As insurmountable as it sounds, I did not,” Damian scoffed. “For respect to you and only you, I refrain from making your family’s every action my business, though of course, I knew my father was on his way.”

He wasn’t lying. Jon sighed “Don’t, do anything to them Dami, I know you and…” he lifted his free hand resting his open palm to Damian's chest “Don’t.”

Damian smirked, lifting his unoccupied hand up to Jon’s hair and grabbing a healthy fistful of the boy’s dark locks. He violently yanked down forcing Jon to his knee while making the palm to his chest drop to the floor as a fist. He strained Jon’s neck up to look at him.

“Or what?” Damian taunted.

“Jon!” Lois screamed, her maternal instincts kicking into overdrive. She quickly tried to set herself free from superman’s grasp but he didn’t budge.

Jon winced then mentally sighted, not minding the display of strength. He had long ago submitted to Damian’s displays of power, as a loyal dog does to his (very) childish master. He looked up into his eyes, seeing past all the anger and rage.

“Or I’m gone,” and you’ll be all alone.

“You—” Damian said, a little taken aback “-tt-"

"They aren’t worth my anger Kent, I’ll let you handle it but make it quick, I feel your bearer will develop mutated abilities to throw daggers from her eyes any second now.”

Jon smiled that same bright smile that enthralled anyone lucky enough to witness it, “Between you and me I think she’s just keeping it a secret from all of us.”

Jon’s neck lowered to Damian’s left hand which was still interlocked with his and kissed it slowly, carefully peppering light pecks as he savored the taste of each finger, starting with his thumb (nutmeg), then slowly crossing to the index (cinnamon), then the middle (clove), the ring (caraway) and last but not least his pinky (saffron), finally finishing by caressing his nose to the knuckles, breathing in the essence that was his god.

"Thank you," he murmured into his skin.

A shiver ran down Damian’s spine.

Jon stood up only to cup Damian’s cheeks between both his hands, making sure to hover his lips over his lover’s dark-skinned ones, and pecked ever so teasingly and lightly, barely touching so as to tease.

“Thank you” Jon muttered again, this time into Damian’s mouth.

Then Damian abruptly gripped his taller companion's face and forcefully closed the gap between their lips, probably taking Jon’s teasing as a challenge. He contrasted the delicate show of affection with a hard and violent kiss, Jon breathed into it. (God, he loved it when D did that.)

“You  _better_  be grateful, Kent,” Damian declared, pulling at Jon’s bottom lip with his teeth, making sure to leave a small bruise.

“You’re too kind,” Jon chuckled, licking at the tiny specks of blood left behind.

“Oh God,” Lois gasped, hands covering half her face in shock at the disturbingly intimate display. Somehow at that moment she knew she had lost her son, lost the battle and that whatever she had come up here to do had lost all hope of success. Superman walked to his wife’s side enveloping her in a hug in hopes of drowning out the cries.

“Yo-you demon! Incubus! leech! Ju-just give me back my son… I’ll do anything,” She sobbed glaring at Damian, “Just give him back to me.”

“Jon is not my prisoner you delusional woman, if you have yet to see that then I truly question every part of your mental capacity,  _more than usual,"_ Damian jeered, wishing HE had the power to shoot daggers from his eyes. He felt a slight and unfamiliar tang of pity but not towards her (oh no) but Jon, his most beloved who was at the center stage of his matriarch's deranged throes.

He hated feeling like this, remembering something his mother used to say:

_Beloved, do not display weakness nor hesitate when you strike, for to show pity is to show disrespect._

It was one of the very few things he agreed on with her yet… he could barely push back these human things, especially when Jon seemed like he wanted to cry. He grabbed at his beloved’s hand who stood next to him observing his mother and tightened his grasp.

 _“Do not show weakness,”_ Damian whispered. Don’t cry.

Jon looked down at him returning the gesture and smiled, not brightly like his usual but with a glass-like sadness, reflecting such a profound sense of sorrow that Damian questioned if he could truly keep his composure.  _Don’t cry,_ he thought once again, this time not sure who it was meant for.

From superman’s humid shoulder Lois pointed her finger at Batman who closely watched by the doors at the back.

“THIS IS YOUR FAULT! IF IT WASN’T FOR YOU, THAT THING UP THERE SUCKING THE LIFE OUT OF MY PRECIOUS BOY WOULDN’T BE BORN!” Lois screamed as her pointed finger gave out to pain and hurt. (Where had she gone wrong?)

Batman's face stiffened, unresponsive to her comment in hopes of not escalating the situation. He understood where she was coming from, him being Damian’s progenitor and thus, half the reason for his biological existence. But Bruce knew she was pulling at straws, children are not their parents and vice versa and he knew Lois knew that. She was just too blinded by anger right now to think clearly.

He wished there was a logical solution to all of this but everything that could be said between him, Damian and Jon had been said long ago, recognizing that at this point, words were futile. His thoughts confirmed by the display he just witnessed. Bruce looked around, determined to do the thing he came here for, study his surroundings, gripping any bit of advantageous information he could observe and also make sure Superman didn’t destroy the whole damn building.

Batman sighed.

Who knew it would end like this, his son- no, The _League of Assassins_  in control of one of the most powerful beings in the galaxy (Stronger than his father). How in the world did he let this happen? How could he not have seen it coming? It was a complete and utter disaster waiting to happen, and he was determined to be ready. When he gathered all the information he could, he gestured to Superman that it was time to go.

Superman nodded and pulled his distressed wife into a princess hold, making his way towards the exit. Batman reached to his belt and threw his super-powered friend a special blanket to cover her from the winds.

Before going on his way superman stopped and looked back at the throne where Jon stood next to the al Ghul “Son, I trust I’ve taught you well enough to distinguish right from wrong and I know you haven’t killed anyone, I can see it in your eyes but,” He looked at Damian, “Evil is contagious and so insidious you barely know it’s there, so please consider not only your mental health but your mother’s and come home soon, our doors are always opened to  _family,_ ” and with that, he leaped into the air and 'exited the doors.

“Jon, you know where to find me, and Damian...your mother would be proud,” Batman finally said as he retreated, the massive doors closing behind him.

Damian frowned. He just  _had_  to jam that last part in there, didn't he? Shameless hypocrite, what right has he to talk after he left him behind to his grandfather's devices.

A single tear ran down’s Jon’s face, then another, and three more. He tried his best to stop them, to force them back in with his hands.

“I’m sorry Dami, I know you hate it when I cry, I just…”

Damian brought Jon’s head down to his shoulders, softly stroking his cascading hair.

“Shh Jonathan, you did well not to show weakness in front of them and... I don’t hate it when you cry, I hate it when you hurt.”

“Why can’t everyone just get along, like,” Jon sniffled, “You’re like the kindest, most authentic, most hard-working person I’ve met, and It just hurts so much D how the people I love the most can’t see any of that or  _don’t_  want to see it, I don’t know.”

Damian chuckled, an aching smile blooming on his lips as he kept petting his other half’s hair, “Beloved, In this life, only you would describe me with those words.”

Jon wrapped his arms around the Arabian descendant’s waist and tightened, burying deep into his shoulder “But you are…”

“The way you fund half the worlds’ stray animal shelters, and how you fly every week to refugee camps in the middle east to teach the kids martial arts and always bring them lots of food and how…” Jon rambled on, tears on the march.

“You’re the one who’s too kind my sun,” Damian said, leaning his head to the side to plant a kiss on Jon’s temple before continuing, “People won’t see what they don’t want to see, it is in human nature to be blind to anything but their own thoughts,  _do not_  let them close your eyes to their pleas,  _do not yield_  to their ignorant sentimentalities lest you want to be taken advantage of and I assure you that trying to please all but yourself is the clearest path to misery.”

“As long as it’s you,” Jon replied hugging tighter “As long as I’m miserable with you, I’m happy.”

“Ugh, keep all that cheese to yourself, Kent,” Damian smirked.

“Heh."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **-Did you like it?**
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> Other Jondami Works by my favorite authors that you should _really_ check out:
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> [Here There Be Wonders](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15200036/chapters/35252885)


	2. The Terminal Velocity of Misery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > For context, ‘Pitter-patter' = the sound of rain falling. Remember to **comment and give kudos if you like this work,** it really makes a difference! **Bookmark & Subscribe** to be on the lookout for the next chapter.
> 
>  **~Main outfits for this chapter:**  
>     
>  **Damian's / 21 / 5'5** : A gold/emerald accented [ mask](https://imgur.com/a/qBG00DA) and [ thobe](https://imgur.com/a/GBEDAYE) with a [bint al bakkar style](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pSkodX7kaH4/VIgWY_nB6eI/AAAAAAAAAv0/-Zt0Axbd9-k/s1600/KNOW%2BYOUR%2BTHOBE%2BMEN.jpg) headdress and a [sword strap vest](https://imgur.com/a/mFs01oW) on top.
> 
>  **Jon's / 19 / 6'3** : Jon is also wearing the same thing, but his thobe is standard white with a subtle S embroidered on the pocket and of course no sword vest or weapons.

When Damian was 8 years old his mother gave him a mask, it was in the shape of Anubis the Egyptian god of death and she said:

_“My little hound, remember this well, death is but your servant and life but a gift you grant."_

...

Dawn rose behind the Saharan desert floor. Before the adorning sunrise, two figures could be seen mounted on a camel as the fiery winds threatened to dishevel their thobe's.

They both rode on one saddle. Damian took hold of the reins while Jon sat close to his back, motioning his hands like a paper fan in hopes of cooling down.

“This is for you,” Damian said, backhanding Jon a gold and emerald mask in the shape of a bird, not unlike his own.

“A chicken?”

“No, what? Are you blind? It's a Falcon you untutored dork, and not just any falcon, it is Ra the-”

“ _Ra_ - _Ra_  Ah-Ah-Ah, Roma-Roma-Ma Ga-Ga- _Ooh_ - _La_ - _La_!”

“Jon… your.... acumen, it's truly blinding," Damian groaned, "It is Ra, the Egyptian god of the sun.”

“Ok, yeah that's a lot cooler than a chicken. Um and this is actually… really sweet of you Dami.”

Jon put on his mask in awe and then pulled his forearm in front of Damian’s face.

“Look, I’m getting some serious goosebumps man! Is the world secretly ending today and you’re not telling me about it? Oh spooks, are we going to die? Are you planning to commit suicide together like in Romeo and Juliet?”

Damian rolled his eyes so far back it almost hurt, “That’s not how that story went birdbrain. If you must know, it is of utmost importance for our identities not be revealed and this one was the only mask left that could fit your big fat face.”

_Damian did not have that mask custom made for Jon, no._

"Hey! I'm not fat! It was just one cheeseburger, sheesh. A man can only have so many Arabian vegetarian dishes before he says  _'no more'_  ."

"One happy day for you, one miserable day for that cow," Damian snorted, "But whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Hmph, whatever...Um, also your mask is cooler, Anubes? doggo of death, right?”

Damian grabbed at his mask and tightened “ _Anubis_ ,  _God_  of death.”

~

Today they rode alone, no guards or backup, after all, this was a special mission. The one where Jon would have to prove his loyalty to the al Ghul’s cause. This would also,  _hopefully_ , be Jon’s first kill.

Damian took out some papers from a small leather bag hanging from the camel's side, going over them before handing the documents to Jon:

____

Target: Ubaid Amari

Main Description: Mayor politician. Reason for Slave trading in the small desert country of Abtens by the south of Egypt.

Location: City hall of Capital city, Nebura. But he has a secret base in the Saharan desert.

Details: The political climate of Abtens is controlled and fueled by the actions of Ubaid Amari’s Slave trading empire…

Bounty Compensation: $ 4,000,000

___

“This is an important first mission, many lives are at stake so go over those Jon, imprint the letters in your corneas and remember what I told you, In-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jon confirmed, then creased his face in the poorest attempt in history at recreating a Japanese general.

“In battle-le, hesitation is...Death! Mercy is... but an opening! And pity... disrespect-to! Anything else my lord?”

“Yes. Engrave those words into thy mind Kent, I assure thou they are the line between life and death in this line of work.” Damian said with slight pause in his eyes.

Jon didn't miss the negligibly small gesture. 

_(A sign of worry. Aw.)_

“I promise not to die, oh Hokage-sama, my lord,” Jon quipped as he bowed slightly, trying to lighten up the mood.

“If you do, I’ll go back to hell and personally kill you myself.” 

“I love you too.” Jon teased, hugging the smaller frame's waist and placing a soft kiss to the top of his head, then on the side of his neck, sucking lightly at the supple skin. "I love everything about you."

“I'm gonna puke from all this cheese you keep shoving down my throat kent.”

"Hm, there's something else I wanna shove down-"

A smaller palm quickly covered his mouth.

"Stop your uncourteous muzzle kent or I'll rip it in two." 

Jon licked the palm.

"Ugh, you disgust me."

"Aw, I love you even more D!" Jon beamed, with that insufferably blinding smile of his.

"-tt-"  

Damian looked to the distance sand dunes in contemplation as a fleeting smile sneaked its way on to his lips. Surely he must have done something right in his previous life to have him in this one. 

~

When he was 10, his father took the blood-soaked mask from his boyish face and gave him a uniform. He patted his soft hair and said:

_"Life is precious Damian, always remember that."_

...

They had been riding for two hours in the search for Amari’s hideout. The sun was now striking them in full force as the scorching winds did nothing to alleviate its glare. Damian had taken out a specialized sonar tracer, holding it up to look for any readings on the screen that indicated a nearby underground structure.

In the distance, Jon heard a voice.

“Can you hear that?” Jon asked.

_‘Help me, please, my dad is stuck!’_

“No super hearing, remember? Oh, wait, yes… Leave it for now. We need to find a place to regroup and analyze the situa-”

“What? No, someone needs our help Dami, we need to go check it out  _right now_  before it’s too late!”

“Jon, haven’t you seen enough classic crime-fighting movies with me to know that it’s obviously a trap? A child’s crying voice? pathetic, a complete lack of originality if you ask me. I would have at least employed a group of 12 adults with a 3:1 ratio of children, for the sake of credibility.”

“But what if it’s real D? We can’t wait around for them to die, a parent and their child could be trapped in some crummy sand dune, toasting to death and by the time we’re done  _re-grouping_  they’ll be dead!”

“Jonathan, this isn’t up for debate! Remember what I told you-!”

But Jon was already gone.

“Goddammit Jon!” Damian yelled, abruptly grabbing at the reins. He went in haste towards the direction Jon was headed to. It led him to a sketchy hole in the sand, covered by a wooden lid. The entrance to some underground lair probably.

“Damn doofus, what kind of parent brings their kid here Jon…” Damian muttered to himself knowing his partner was already in there. He dismounted his camel and crawled inside.

Wall rusted stairs led him to a room, supported by a couple of copper beams. It looked to be under construction at some point in the past but then left abandoned, a gift to mother nature to do with as she pleased. Some corners of the room were lacking dust, an indication that it was recently used.

A black site.

Probably Amari’s recent hideout. How did they know?

Jon was kneeling in front of a body, unmasked. Tears threatening to fall down. It was a mummified child’s corpse (A slave probably). To the mummy was attached a recorder and a small piece of kryptonite.

“Sorry, D, you were right, like always,” Jon sniffled, Barely able to stand.

Damian rushed towards him, “Like I told you, birdbrain, pity is just an opening...Jon put on your mask and get up. We must leave right away before-”

Too late.

An explosion rumbled from outside making the whole room shake. The copper beams that supported the structure started snapping one by one.

  _~0.5 seconds_

Damian ran to Jon, grabbed his collar and threw his body to the middle of the room, where the least rusted beam stood.

_~0.20 seconds_

He took at a large golden scarab from his belt and took out his katana.

_~0.50 seconds_

Then adjusted his mask to be sealed tight, pressing a small switch on the side. Oxygen generator. Otherwise, his lungs could implode from the incoming blast of dust particles.

~1.5 seconds

Finally, Damian threw himself towards Jon and shouted “Table!”.

He passed out from the blast.

~

When he was 13 he met the sun and for the first time in his life he realized he was living in the shadow of life. For without light how does one recognize darkness and the sun said to him:

_"Hey! I'm Jon, what's your name?"_

...

_‘Damian, wake up! Damian!’_

Damian abruptly opened his eyes, taking a deep breath of oxygen.

“Katana!” he gasped

_'Really Dami? Your first thought is your swords? Ok, that’s kinda…badass, but I’m hurt.’_

Oh, thank gods, it was in his grip.

_'Man, you were really knocked out cold.'_

Drops of water were ticking at his mask.  Chinese water torture? Where was he? No that wasn’t right. Then he saw Jon’s face.

He was on all fours on top of him making sure the enveloping sand didn’t finish crushing their bodies under the pressure (that’s right, they’re on a mission). The sweat from Jon's forehead steadily dripping on him. How long had it been?

He checked his masks oxygen levels, 5%. Approximately an hour.

“Good morning beautiful, Like my table? Oh, and that mask just keeps getting cooler, mini oxygen tank, eh? Nice~, Wish I had mine right about now,” Jon strained.

“Jon! You self-righteous, ignoramus, moronic muttonhead!”

“Ouch! I already said I’m sorry! Um, uh… I’m guessing you have a plan? Because I’m still feeling weak from the kryptonite, my lungs feel funny and I’m kinda getting really light-headed.”

“Don’t talk! And of course I do but…” He looked at Jon’s chest expanding back and forth. He was running out of Oxygen without his mask. Fast. If he wasn’t half-Kryptonian he would already be dead.

“I’ve sent for help, (his scarab.)”

They were tightly packed together by the sand. The table position brilliantly did its job by resting most of the pressure on Jon's Kryptonian back, saving Damian's life in the process. It also left a small pocket of space between their faces, good enough for Jon to breathe.

His oxygen was now at 3%. He breathed in. (Analyze the situation.)

“Computer. Scarab status.”

A screen flashed in front of him, specifying the location of the beetle. It had already managed to hack a communications tower close by. Good, a rescue team should be there soon. The cybernetic insect was effecting maneuver V as he spoke, which means it was circling their location. Enough laps would create a negative vortex that would take most of the powdery sand off their backs (it was on lap 543). Why wasn’t it working?

“Analyze terrain,” he demanded. The masks small screen gleamed, showing the main problem. One of the beams didn’t finish breaking. The one behind Jon. The very one he hoped would save them. He miscalculated.

“So cool…” Jon gushed.

Damian glared at him behind his mask “Jon, more talk, less oxygen”

“Oh, right, oh sorry! Whoops!”

“-tt-”

_Oxygen level at 2%_

They were going to die because of his mistake. They were going to die because of his mistake. His mistake. He’s  _Damian al Ghul._  He doesn’t do mistakes. Yet, he miscalculated. Mistake. 

Jon stared at him. Damian's heart rate was going over the roof! and not in a good way. (It was cute how well he could hide it from anyone but him.)

But can't have their only ticket out of here be a panicked mess. So he pecked a sandy kiss on the forehead of Damian’s mask, and another one, and one more.

 _You’ve got this D’_ he mouthed.

And Damian did have this, he always did. But the consequences…

There was only one way to get out of this alive. He needed to collapse the beam behind Jon with his Katana. In order to let the scarab’s hard work bear fruit.

There had to be another way. Think. No, he had already analyzed all possible exit strategies.

NO. (You have to.)

He wasn’t going to stab Jon and risk his life.

NO. (You’ll both die.)

Then let them die together goddammit.

NO. (You’ll never see him again in hell.)

Ah, that’s right, the heavens would never let them see each other again even in death. Like a last mocking laugh at this accursed thing between them that was never meant to be.

Rare tears started swelling up under his mask but refusing to fall, refusing to show  _weakness_  before the universe's sick sense of humor. 

Jon kept kissing his forehead. (This idiot.)

He needed to act fast if any one of them was getting out alive.

“Jon, do you trust me?”

“Always,” he said, without hesitation as he kept pecking at the mask again and again.

He took a small yet deep breath and gripped his katana.

Jon is half-Kryptonian, his body could take it (he hoped). A precise incision between his pelvic rim and coccyx would be needed to finish breaking the beam while avoiding any bone and vital areas.  

Thank gods his katana was coated in Nano-ceramic fiber composite, one of the only materials on the planet that could cut straight through steel or they would be in deep trouble, of the  _fatal_  kind.

The lack of oxygen was obviously getting to Jon because he thought he could hear the distinct sound of tears falling down Damian’s face. Ptff. No, that’s like psychically impossible for Damian,  _there’s no way…_

Then he felt it, the piercing cold touch of a blade going straight through his hip.

“Ahg!!”

_“sorry.”_

And that was just the beginning because it kept going and going, like a never-ending shriek.

What was-? Damian. It was his sword.

"ARhhhhaaAAHHHHHHH, WAIT STOP!”

_“sorry.”_

The pain was  _unbearable_. No way this was a normal sword (of course it wasn't). The thing must’ve been lined with acid or something because it was like no pain he’d ever felt before.

Oh god! He could smell his skin burning.

_“sorry.”_

“NO, STOP, STOP, STOP! IT HU-! ARRGHHHHH!”

_“sorry.”_

_"I CAN NOT BREATHE! AhhhhhhAAAAAAAAAAH! "_

_“sorry.”_

_Oxygen. 0.5 Percent._

The sand above them collapsed.

~

When he was 16 he went to fight his grandfather in his father's name, who then starved him for 21 days and 21 nights and said:

_"You will yield like the beasts who prowl and become by grandson once more."_

 His father never came for him.

 ...

To Damian, who was baptized in rivers of blood, the smell of corpses was all too familiar, nostalgic even.

Any other mortal would give merit to the thought of never waking up again before that stench but for the al Ghul, it was the equivalent of scented adrenaline. It made his battle instincts kick his body into hyperdrive for the potential battle ahead.

_(Katana?! One missing, one still strapped. Ok.)_

He couldn’t move. But he could breathe (obviously, with being alive and all). He opened his eyes to the mask’s screen lights blinding his irises.

His body was being smooched down by something moist that  _definitely_  wasn’t sand.

A body? Jon. Damian Looked around and there he was laying stomach first on top him. His eyes closed as if sleeping peacefully to the wind chimes of their Jeddah villa. Except there were no lush date palms or red sea, instead his surroundings showed a much more gruesome sight.

He looked around trying to find the source of the stench that burned his nostrils. To his right, he sighted a rotting corpse, its eyes protruding a colony of maggots. And another one to his left and even more on top Jon. They were everywhere, hundreds most likely if they could entomb them like this.

They were buried inside a mountain of rotting corpses.

He felt the cold steel of his own katana’s hilt buying into his gut. They hadn’t taken it out of Jon (Good), he would’ve bled to death otherwise. Even if someone tried, it would have been incredibly difficult to pull out the blade from Jon's Kryptonian skin.

“Computer…” Damian coughed. “Analyze specimen to my front”

A biometric screen flashed. Jon was still alive. Barely.

“Computer, where are we?”

Another screen flashed. It read  _Nebura, Abtens, Local cemetery_.

The rescue party that his scarab alerted must’ve thought they were dead and threw them here, with the rest of the departed.

Based on the corpses rotting clothes, they must’ve all been slaves. Too much trouble to bury them all.

He grabbed at Jon and pushed upward with him in hand. Grabbing at every eye socket, bone and rotting piece of meat he could grip on to unbury them. Blood and decay accompanied them all the way through the uphill, something that posed no problem for the young al Ghul. (He was used to death and it's kind.)

_From a distance, one could see a hand protruding from a mountain of stacked bodies. It reached up, like that of a defier who had managed to wrangled his soul from the cold skeletal grasp of death itself._

_~_

When Damian was 18 his grandfather died. He mourned him, for despite the flaws he was his flesh and blood. It was then that he rose to rule a kingdom of death, and his mother said:

_"My little prince now becomes a king, a mother could not be more proud."_

_..._

Like an unborn babe about to be pulled from his mother womb, the pile of dead flesh gave birth to his head, arms and finally, feet. He felt a slight patting on his face and looked up, it was raining.

Finally free, he stood up on the two decomposing faces for leverage and grabbed Jon's arms, he was now the OB-GYN tasked with delivering a second, heavier body.

“Come on Jon” He pulled. "There we go. Ah-"

Together they fell backward atop another wet heap of cadavers.

Jon’s phone slipped out of his pocket and landed squarely on Damian’s face.

"What the-"

(It was truly a miracle they hadn’t stolen their belongings, maybe too afraid of being cursed.)

It was vibrating.

_'bzzz'_

'bzzz'

_Caller Id: Lois Lane_

_26 missed calls. 1 voicemail._

Oh  _her_ and of course it was. Who else would go to these- ...

_sigh._

Damian was about to say something about her delusional and lowly status of mind but refrained, because just look at where Jon was, all because of the ' _demon'_.

He put it on silent, slid the phone in his pocket and stood up, dragging Jon’s body into a piggyback in the process. Then bent down to rummage for his falcon mask. (Found it.)

Damian adjusted the larger's weight on his back and looked over for any spot where there were no carcasses, he saw in the distance a cleared area by a row of flat tombstones. (The  _not_  slaves he assumed.)

While walking over to their short-term destination, he noticed an unnatural number of coyotes prowling the area.

One of the canines got close to them, confused as to why its meal was walking. He took out his other Katana from its straps and pointed it forward.

“Mutt, be on your way or I swear on my honorable family's name I will turn you into jerky and feed it to your brethren,” he growled.

_The coyote seemed to understand its predicament and scurried off._

He laid Jon's body on its side on top of a flat tombstone and tilted him at an 85-degree angle, making sure not to disturb the katana impaled in him still, then grabbed at his med kit and took off his own mask.

Damian pulled a small piece of green kryptonite from a special radiation resistant pocket in his strap vest, placing the gem right next to his unconscious companion's head. (Sorry Jon)

(Breathe). He took a small vile that contained a blue liquid and grabbed the katana by its hilt. He pulled slowly, pouring the curative sealer on the wound as the blade left the body. It accomplished two purposes, it loosened the steely skin’s hold on the blade and sealed the wound with a paste as it went.

_Please don’t wake up_

_Please don’t wake up_

_Please don’t wake up_

“ARAGHHHHHhhhhhAAAHHHHHH,” Jon’s body arched abruptly, his howl echoing throughout the eerie musk of the cemetery, warning all he who entered that this was  _not_  a place for the living.

“-tt-”

The kryptonite was bravely doing its job by keeping Jon in place. There was no way to subdue him otherwise. It was for his own good.

Then It was done. All but a bluish sealed wound was left, reminiscent to a filled pipeline.

“DAMIAN!” Jon gasped. He awoke to smell of crisp rain. Gosh, It was pouring, in the desert? And why was there a worm in his mouth?

‘ _Ptooey!_ ’ he spat, expelling the maggot out. “Ewwww! oh and ouchhhh!”

Jon's vision cleared to an unimaginable scene. The sight of Damian crying. Or was it the rain?

His head laid on Damian’s crossed legs, on top of what looked to be a tombstone. 

He was kissing Jon’s hand, whispering sweet Arabic nothings into the skin as their foreheads touched in reverse, Spiderman style.

"D, I knew you were emo, but man, you literally could not have found a more depressing place to rest up," Jon wheezed.

_Some time ago, Damian had told Jon about Astatine, the rarest natural element on earth, so rare it only accounted for 30 grams of earth’s crust in total. He joked that that must be what Damian’s tears were made of._

Jon truly couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Oh, munchkins! D was crying, he was actually pouring liquid from his eyes like a human does. (The world must  _really_  be coming to an end.)

“At this point, I’m going to drown in Astatine, Am I the luckiest guy on earth or what?” Jon coughed.

Damian sniffled, returning the kryptonite to its rightful pocket. He wiped his face, trying to turn his hands into something close to a dam but it seems he would need a much bigger one because the tears just kept on coming, obviously not caring for trivialities such as  _pride_.

Among one of the things Damian most hated, crying was surely atop that list. The weakness was a bitter reminder of the many beatings he got for it from grandfather.

 _'An al G_ hul _is incapable of crying' - Grandfather._

_Goddammit. Goddammit. Goddammit._

“It-It’s the rain, you idiot.”

Jon weakly reached his hand up to swipe a stray tear and brought it to his mouth.

“Well, taste pretty salty to me. Whatever it is, it’s beautiful.  _You’re_  beautiful”

“Damn cheeseball.” The smaller retorted.

With his palms to Jon's cheeks, Damian closed his eyes. Starting to very slowly roll their foreheads together as if he could drill his way into Jon's bright and sunny brain folds where he could nest up forever and just be happy.

_(Home.)_

“Um, so you…stabbed me…”

_~Damian reached up to pecked his nose._

“I did”

_~Then his hair and forehead._

“But we’re alive somehow…”

_~Then up again, making sure to kiss every part of his face._

“We are.”

_~This time pausing to breathe him in._

 “It  _was_  for saving, right? You didn’t just go crazy and try to kill me, right?”

 "Hm."

_~Kiss, kiss, kiss._

“Sooo, is that a yes I tried to save us, or yes I tried to kill you, I can’t tell?”

~He continued peppering him with kisses,  _leaving a butterfly trail until reaching his lips and finally, Damian kissed him deep and he returned the gesture not really caring for the answer anymore. Slowly their tongues began an intricate dance, the dance of two lovers who would never see each other once more._

_~Damian ruled his mouth, pulling out to peck at the side, then coming back violently, then nibbling at his bottom lip, each approach as different as the last, all with a sorrowful passion to every step he took in their waltz._

There was a heaviness in Jon's eyes. Then he opened them to a lake. A small crystalline pool of salt was cascading over the hollow of his own eyes. The source: Damian's very own. The little puddle made Jon look like he himself was crying profusely, and maybe he was because, honestly, this felt too good to be true.

Which is why he was confused as to why Damian's tears seemed to get heavier by the moment.

 _“_ Dami…um-” Jon could barely put a breath in. He didn’t mind.

Damian could feel Jon getting colder. 

He tightened his hands around his companion's face, pulling him ever deeper into the kiss. He just needed to be connected to him right now, Jon wasn't going to die (impossible with him around) but he needed to let Jon know he loved him at every second of every moment right now, even if he was incapable of expressing it in words. 

The medicine wasn’t working or maybe  _it_  itself was the source of this downward spiral. How?

Kuramay. His healer.

There was no other logical explanation. He created all his formulas and the healer double checked them. She must’ve also ratted them out to Amari’s group, informing on not only him but of Jon and his weaknesses, physical and psychological alike.  Thus, the obvious trap. Did she also disclose that the Lazarus pit doesn't work on a Kryptonian's unique composition?

(Damn it all.)

How Ironic it was that his ultimate miscalculation was in being  _too_  careful.

Or was it trusting someone else other than Jon?

_Without him, am I truly and utterly alone? Is death my only true eternal friend?_

He abhorred every letter as he thought it.  

Jon nibbled at his lips, wrestling his tongue in order to overthrow his long-standing dominion, and for the first time, Damian let him. Let him bury his tongue far along his teeth and gums, let him pass along his sugary nectar without restraint. Let him bury his firm finger's deep into his hair and mess it up. Let him manhandle his mouth as he pleased. Let him bite. Let him lick. Let him rule. 

He let it all happen knowing…

(Damn tears. Stop.)

Knowing… it could- it  _would_  probably be their last.

Their last time breathing each other’s air.

~He inhaled into the kiss.

Their last time gasping each other’s name.

~Hm, Damian-

 _His_  last time ever seeing- just  _feeling_  the only source of sunshine in his goddamn fucked up life.

“Wow, D…You’re… incredible, like it… I feel like I’m in heaven, all rainbows and…sunshine.”

“Don’t go.” Damian sniffled “Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go.” Muttering as he pecked at Jon’s lips with every sentence. “Don’t leave me alone down here…”

Their lips came apart as Damian wiped at his humid face, he was  _done_  with the useless waterworks. Now was the time for ruthless pragmatism because there was absolutely no way he was going to let Jon die in his trash pile on an unknown corner of the earth. 

He quickly grabbed Jon’s masks and placed it tightly on his face, making sure to turn on the oxygen, then took out his med kit, determined to save the sun.

_Suddenly Jon’s heart started going into cardiac arrest._

_oh._

(NO. NO.NO.)

(NO. NO.NO.)

(NO. NO.NO.)

_Don't think. Can't think._

Damian's brain went into a blank overdrive as he started performing chest compressions on Jon.              ‘Pitter-patter.’

Something grabbed at his pocket (a coyote?). No time. 

The beast sat next to him munching on something.

Suddenly he heard a familiar voice.

_Hi honey pie, It's Mom._

_Oh, Clark check the stove!_

_'on it!'                                                                                                       'Pitter-patter.’_

Chest Compressions. (NO. NO. NO.)

_~Sorry. Um, I was calling just because I wanted to let you know how sorry I was about yesterday sweetie, you know it’s never mom’s intention to hurt or make you feel wrong in any way, right?_

Chest Compressions.

_~You know I love you, right? And that all I want is for you is to be happy, and most of all safe from all the hurt and awfulness of this world. So, when your son run’s off to a group of assassins after a boy. Well…It makes her worry, a lot. Maybe so much it’s hard for her to sleep at night, not knowing where he is or what he’s doing._

Chest Compressions. 

_~I’m ranting again, ain’t I? Sorry. Just be safe ok? and yes that includes using proper protection, haha, you’re probably blushing right now, aren’t you Jonathan Samuel Kent? You’ve always been such a shy boy about these things but don’t worry, it’s part of the Kent charm!._

Chest compressions (Get up!)                                                                                                      

Chest compressions (Get up!)  _'Pitter-patter.’_  

Chest compressions (Get up!)

_~Well, bye, I love you with all my heart, again be safe! Because-”_

**Jon’s heart stopped.**

_~I don’t know what I’d do without you sweetie, ok bye now.”_

(This is not real. This is not real. This is not real. It must be a joke.)

 _Yeah, the sickest joke in the world...surely the most fitting punchline to his life._  

_**He screamed.** _

                      

  _Pitter-patter.’_                            _'Pitter-patter.’_        

 _'                  Pitter-patter.’_     

 _'                        '_                '

_Pitter-patter.’                     '                            Pitter-patter.’_

_'Pitter-patter.’_  

 _'                  'Pitter-patter.’_  

                                        

   _'Pitter-patter.’_                                   _'Pitter-patter.’_  

 _'                  Pitter-patter.’_     

 _'                        '_                '

_Pitter-patter.’                     '                            Pitter-patter.’_

_'Pitter-patter.’_  

 _'                  'Pitter-patter.’_  

                                        

   _'Pitter-patter.’_                      _'Pitter-patter.’_  

 

 

~

It was on his 19th birthday he realized he was in love with the boy who smelled of the sun. And that sun came to him when no one else would and it said:

_"I'll follow you anywhere as long as you're there."_

Nothing else mattered in this life but him.

...

He very gently placed Jon’s head on the tombstone for even his anguished delirium, could not blind him to the silent truth. He brushed his beloved's hair aside and settled a kiss on his forehead.

And he stayed there for a moment, just...stayed.

"sawf 'aeud lak of habibi," He whispered.

_'I will come back for you, beloved.'_

Then with barely any strength, stood up.

Damian looked up into the bleak skies as the droplets fell and merged with his tears and his tears were the rain and the rain an ocean, enveloping the globe of his face until no ground was left to take refuge on.

Ah, he thought… how fitting it was for the sun to be hidden as if reflecting the death of its God.

 _‘Pitter-patter.’                 '                                                              '_  

_'                           'Pitter-patter.’_

_'                         'Pitter-patter.’_

**He was numb.**

It’s an ineffable feeling, being so crushed under the weight of your own desolation that you don’t feel it's presence anymore.

_Desolation becomes you._

There was so much that, there was no space for anything anymore. He had reached what could only be described as the terminal velocity of misery.

He put on his mask and bent down to reach for his twin blades, the precious blood already cleansed away by the rain. He drove one of them into the dirt next to Jon's head to ward off any beasts (maybe the reaper himself would feel the crimson animosity emanating from it, and maybe just maybe... in his fear spare this one soul.)

“Locate scarab tracker.”

A screen text popped: Scarab located at Naruba city hall. Currently targeting Ubaid Amari.

He walked off into the distance, his likeness no different from the corpses that littered the ground.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **-Did you like it?**
> 
> I would really, **_positively ADORE if you left a comment and some kudos_** if you liked it! It really makes a difference by letting me know that I'm doing something right. It also inspires me to do more of these!
> 
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> 
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> 
> **-Feedback.**
> 
> I'm a bit new to fics and writing itself so I would appreciate any constructive critiques. ~
> 
> Other Jondami Works by my favorite authors that you should _really_ check out:
> 
> [The Rest of My Days](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15695988/chapters/36475644)  
> [Here There Be Wonders](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15200036/chapters/35252885)


	3. My Fancies Are Fireflies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Important Notes** : These works are loosely inspired by the events of Batman Beyond (2016) #8-11.
> 
>  **Damian's outfit~:**
> 
> First part: A gold/emerald accented [ mask](https://imgur.com/a/qBG00DA) and [ thobe](https://imgur.com/a/GBEDAYE) with a [sword strap vest](https://imgur.com/a/mFs01oW) on top.
> 
> Second part : [a red uniform](https://imgur.com/a/wEQFa56)
> 
> In this chapter Jon sports a standard black ninja outfit (shinobi shozoku).
> 
> **Jon is 19 (6'3 in height)**
> 
> **Damian is 21 (5'5 in height)**
> 
> Remember to give kudos if you like this work, it really makes a difference!

Infinity Island

10:45 PM

Beyond the warm night, a 3-year-old boy laid in the far corner of a room supported only by the cool wooden floor and looming walls. This boy did not cozy his form to a warm plush toy or blanket. Oh no, to his chest lay two cold and lifeless blades as big as his figure. His little fingers gripped the two sheaths with the devotion and respect befitting weapons of murder.

Back towards a corner.  _(‘So, no one can attack you from behind.’)_

Head facing down.  _(‘To not expose your neck’.)_

Sheath tip on the floor.  _(‘So, you can feel the vibrations of steps’.)_

And a hand always on the hilt  _(‘To quickly kill’.)_

“Mama, tell me a bedtime story.”

“Of course, my son,” said a mother as she tucked herself into the corner next to the boy.

“Today I will recount the tale of Senusret I, the second pharaoh of the Twelfth Dynasty of Egypt. During his rule, he was known for justly punishing those who committed inequitable crimes and because of this, he had many enemies of low caste trying to assassinate him. So, you know what he did?

“What?”

“He rounded up those rebels and put them in giant beautiful torches all around his home, making sure to lather their bodies with a special waxy paste that would prolong their light. And during the night he burned these lamps. It is said Senusret’s  _lanterns_  shone as prettily as fireflies in the night and that their screams could be heard from a hundred miles in distance for over 3 days and 3 nights. After this, no other insurgent dared rebel against Senusret and so he ruled for many long and prosperous years.”

“Wow, that is really far.”

“It is, but even Senusret in all his wisdom does not compare to you and the new immortal era you will one day bring upon this earth my prince, for the divine purpose you follow, is larger than this world. Always remember that.”

“Yes, mother.”

“Now hush beloved, go to sleep, a long day of training and studies awaits you tomorrow.”

But before she could stand up, a small hand held her in place. “Mother, wait…um, would you sleep next to me tonight?”

“My child, you know I can’t do that. Monsters and shadows of the night are meant to be faced alone. You must learn this now for I will not always be here to protect you and for that, you must learn to protect yourself.”

The boy hugged his swords tightly, “Yes mother…”

~

Damian did not grieve, for grievance and remorse were deceases of the weak, he much preferred his father’s version, how was it that he said? One should honor the life of the deceased not how they died? Yeah, he liked that better. Jon’s life would be honored with the fête it most deserved soon enough.

But first, he would  _avenge_. Punish the enemies that struck down the sun itself and make them know pain beyond what is humanly comprehensible. Those very enemies were currently below him laughing and drinking to their heart's content, in celebration of his and Jon’s supposed demise.

Damian sat next to a skylight above the Nebura city hall’s main event room. He was fidgeting with a mini signal disruptor inside his scarab that would deactivate all security protocols on the building. He adjusted his screwdriver to lower the frequency of X to the exact one the motion alarms were on and presto. Too easy.

Ubaid Amari was below toasting glasses in the name of his success with 18 other powerful politicians who were also involved with his slave trading party. 20 unmoving guards surrounded the room in vigilance.

At rare times like these Damian was actually grateful for the brutal education The League put him through. It was that kind of training that allowed him to hack an entire country's government database in less than a minute.

After examining the event logs over the last 10 years for this building, events such as these typically lasted 2 hours. He checked his watch. He had two hours to finish his business before the outside guards would open the doors for the evening dinner.

(Though it didn't matter if everything went according to plan.)

Damian reached for a large vile inside the plastic bag he was carrying. Pure soy wax, honey, and alcohol were mixed inside. The ingredients needed for what he liked to call Pharaoh water, a custom-made formula that would prolong the  _light_  and suffering of its victims for up to 48 hours (surely the tales were exaggerating when they said 3 days).

From a small pocket in the front of his sword strap vest, he pulled out a dozen mini mechanical scarabs and placed them gently on the edge of the skylight.

“Go my little soldiers.”

The insects heeded their master's words and camouflaged themselves as they phased into the glass without breaking it.

 _Assassination Lesson one:  Always go with the element of surprise._ _(Mother’s note: ‘The better the faces of anguish when they don’t know what hit them’.)_

The critters spread themselves all over the vast room in tactical positions. “Activate force field,” Damian directed to a little comm in his mask.

An invisible barrier connected by each scarab enveloped the hall guess plaza, the attending none the wiser.

He looked at the guards and searched up all their names in the database and as expected every last one gave positive to direct collision with Amari’s slave trading empire (check). Despite his line of work, Damian took no pleasure in taking innocent lives (a side effect from the short years he spent with his father and then Jon).

_Perfect, all the guilty rats are in the nest._

Though in reality, he knew it didn’t really matter who he killed as long as he could feel _the rush._ A state a mind that enveloped reality itself, freeing him of all inhibitions. And this rush was always much more enjoyable, _humane_ even, when he practiced it on monsters like himself. Now those were the type to make his blood boil ecstatically, their screeching melody satisfied the addict-like bloodlust in his veins.

It’s something he was trying to control for Jon’s sake. Plus he also didn’t want to give his mother the satisfaction of knowing her lifelong experiment of turning him into a weapon of destruction may have actually borne some fruit.

But right now his mother was on a far away mission and Jon…Jon was gone.

_Jon was…no._

Damian adjusted his Anubis mask into position and reached into his pocket and from it, he took out a hypodermic needle, injecting himself with the liquid inside. He then very carefully cut a precise hole in the glass with the tip of his katana, held the glass in place and grabbed at a small bomb he had stashed away. The exact moment he dropped the glass was the exact moment he dropped the bomb through the skylight.

 

(3)

 

(2)

 

(1)

 

The cut glass crashed into the floor. Commotion ensued.

Everyone in that room didn’t know what hit them. The guards were too late to react before the gas hit the broken glass and poured an evergreen colored fume.

What was torrenting out of that bomb was a custom-made formula Damian simply called  _agony_. Something he reserved for the worst of the worst, deserters, treason and oh, killing the only person he's ever truly loved.

All the guests ran screaming towards the doors but their bodies and shrieks were immediately repelled by the force field. The guards tried backing into the corners of the room in hopes of evading the smoke but failed. Every person in the area started gasping for air as blood poured from their eyes, nose, ears, and mouth. All of them hit the floor, whittling and screaming in what could be described as pure refined  _agony_.

...

_Meanwhile right outside the main door._

  _Guard 1: “Hey, I heard the boss had a good day today, you think he’ll let us out early?_

_Guard 2: “I sure hope so Maat, my wife told me she would be making Kofta today for me and the kids, so I pray it is so.”_

_Guard 1: “You are a lucky man my friend. If you ask me this job’s way too easy, I mean who would dare even cross the front gate of this hall, It’s a prison I tell you.”_

_Guard 2: “Yeah, those security alarm guys have also made our job even easier. Well, at least life's good, brother.”_

_Guard 1: “That she is.”_

 ...

In the middle of all the chaos and smoke one could see a masked figure walk calmly towards the edge of the room, undisturbed by the flailing bodies and blood-soaked floors. He stopped in front of Amari.

The man noticed him and a look of absolute horror crept up his face, he hurriedly tried crawling away but slipped on his own blood.

Damian took off his mask, wanting him to see who death truly was.

“'Ant kayf? khattna eamalta! kayf halik ya jahiam!?” Amari slurred.

 _‘You, how? Our plan it worked! How the hell are you alive!?’_  

Damian looked, just  _looked_  at him, watching as the powerful politician bled from every orifice in his body. Looked as he struggled to run away like a rat in oil for 10 sweet minutes.

How had this… insignificant vermin managed to best him? How did this _thing_ squirming before his feet take away that which fueled his world?

“'Uwh la, ln tamut bishakl  _murih._ ”

_‘Oh no, you don’t get to die so comfortably.’_

He stepped closer and violently grabbed the bloodied man by the neck, forcefully injecting a liquid into his external jugular vein.

The antidote.

~

‘Pitter-patter’

‘Pitter-patter’

Jon opened his eyes, blinking the raindrops away. In the distant sky, he thought he could see two shining figures, their light warm and welcoming.

_‘Oh, poor thing, who would’ve cursed his soul like this? It will be impossible to collect now’_

_‘Yes, truly to put such a nasty thing next to him…what would merit such level of hate?’_

_‘Rao will be most disappointed, this one was to be special, an eternal welcoming to his name.’_

But when he blinked again they were gone.

~

“ _Scolopendra Cingulata_ , sometimes known as the Egyptian centipede. I caught 2 while on my way here. Quite beautiful, aren’t they?”

On top of a grand dinner table, Damian sat atop Amari, who was impaled by 4 knives to the hard wooden surface, spreadeagle style. One on each hand and feet.

He carefully pinched the arthropods’ heads between his fingers, their tiny legs skittering all the way to his forearm.

“Sometime ago I wanted one as a pet but Jon argued adamantly against it, said we would have to part ways if I got it. So..." He paused,  _"I got one_ because I knew he was bluffing and of course, he was. I called him Sepa. Sepa disappeared the next day under  _mysterious_  circumstances. When I asked Jon about it, he said he didn’t know but I could see otherwise. It is ironic, how someone who can tell a lie immediately, can’t himself lie if his life depended on it. It was one of those endearing things about him...”

Amari thrashed under his weight, his blood dripped eyes trembled at the sight of the insects. "Please don't, I just took her instructions!"

“He conceded the truth after minimal interrogation," He continued. "As expected, and confessed of taking Sepa to an insect sanctuary down by the West Nile. I threw him out the next day and didn’t talk to him for a whole month afterward, all but starving him of my affections.” Damian continued.

“I could’ve easily forgiven the small transgression but I was taught that there had to be consequences to all undesired actions, that’s how an animal learns after all. Plus, that dork made it way too easy. In the end, like a puppy scratching at the door, he begged and cried for forgiveness for 32 days and nights. I conceded after the month-long punishment was over. And after that? I could get any pet I wanted.”

Damian took a small jar from his bag. Inside it were hundreds of maggots he collected from the cemetery.

“During my short acquaintance with Sepa, do you know what he liked to eat the most?” Damian smirked, sprinkling the little critters in Amari's mouth and left eye.

“n…o…p…lease.”

“That’s right, maggots.”

Damian lightly placed one centipede in his mouth and the other in his eye. The beauties frenzied at their meal, digging away for more.

"AHHHHGGGKKKKAahhAHHHHH!" Amari screamed, his back snapped upwards as one insect burrowed slowly into the eye socket while the worked itself down the throat.

_The screams made his dick hard._

_(Ignore it.)_

_“_ The point is, there are consequences Amari. Always. You should have prayed to better gods when you wished me dead.”

_He fumbled in his bag for another tool._

“You know why I left your right eye intact?”

He was answered with more screams.

“Because this is just the beginning. With that right eye of yours, I want you to witness how I slaughter every babe, man, woman, and child that you have ever loved in front of it, just you wait, because this isn’t even %1 of the pain you have caused me,” He threatened, enabled to hide the note of anguish to his words.

_It was a custom carrot peeler._

“Miss Zhi Rou, my AoT (Art of torture) teacher  _personally_  taught me this one when I was 4 years old.”

_So, he started peeling._

The screams coalesced into a symphony like no other, it brought him back to that time his mother (Ever the art Connoisseur) took him to Wiener Musikverein during a mission, it was to take witness of the Vienna Philharmonic. If he were to ever thank her for something, it would've been that moment his small 5 years old ears marveled at a phonetic miracle.

During the flaying process, some intrusive thoughts disturbed the sonata of cries. _(Don't think about it)._ Oh, but he did, he thought about his father and his reaction to the current scene. He thought about his mother and how very proud she would be of his immaculate flaying technique. But most of all he thought about how Jon would likely not approve of this. Scratch that, _definitely_ would not. The dork would probably faint at the sight of this, at the image of who he _truly_ was.

He tried for many years to keep this faction of himself hidden from Jon, careful not to divulge any information of the past that would arouse suspicion but now the birds have sung too late and no company would stop him. Not his father, not his mother, not his grandfather and especially not Jon.

_Jon. Right, he wasn't there anymore._

He pushed down the peeler harder than he needed to, "All because of you..." and was rewarded with an especially high C sharp.

It took about 30 minutes to peel his entire skin off.

Soon after he was done he poured the pharaoh water over the man's body and lit a match.

_"My fancies are fireflies. Specks of living light twinkling in the dark."_

A light reflected off Amari’s wide eyes as it fell on him.

**_"_ AHHHHHHRHHHHHHGGggghhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaAAAJHHHHHHHHHHHHHHaaaaaHHH"**

_"Let my_ hate _, like sunlight, surround you and yet give you illumined freedom."_

Damian _watched_ his lantern and  _listened_ intently to the melodic concord of a gruesome firefly. All with the lifeless eyes of a being who had lost everything.

_-Boom!- (More screams.)_

Without warning, he heard the sound a human makes when it explodes from the inside out, a common side effect of the poison. _Ah, so it had started_. The surrounding gas would inhale itself into the bodies and rupture them from the inside, all while the victim was alive.

_-Boom!-(and more screams.)_

The sudden bursts made blood and intestines splatter in all which way, including the roof. Drips of gore rained down from the glass ceiling, painting the whole room red as rivers of flowing blood collided with the bottom edge of the force field.

He held his hand in front of him, catching the drips of crimson then looked up in contemplation and closed his eyes, breathing in the metallic rain.

“You know..." He blinked away the blood that dripped onto his eyes. "I've never told this to anyone but I had a dream not too long ago, where Jon came to me bathed in fire, a sun in his own right, and we made love together under the blanket of space with the universe as a witness to our divine consummation. Soon after we both became something bigger than any star and together we ruled this world and many others...”

_-Boom!- (and even more so.)_

Damian dropped his hands in an act of surrender, to what? he didn't quite know.

He blinked again. The bloody tears stained his face as they rolled down, leaving the mark of the damned in their wake.

“But because of you, I cannot even dream…” 

~

“Hey! kid wake up, the masters will kill you if they see you sleeping in the ceremony.”

“What…five more minutes mommy.”

“Wake up!”

“I’m awake!” Jon gasped. His eyes darted open to the bright burning sun and…purple petals falling from the sky?

One petal casually settled on his nose, it smelled like poison.

Where was he? He looked to his side, a hand on his shoulder patted some of the petals away.

“Good, keep yourself awake mate unless you want to be skinned alive by miss Zhi. And don’t let these things get in your mouth, the queen mother loves her belladonnas.”

Jon’s vision cleared to a row of people in front of him, all wearing black outfits like the ones Damian’s underlings wore in their Himalayan headquarters. The row of people didn’t just extend to his front, but to his left, right and back. He was surrounded by them, their posture upright and facing something.

But what? he couldn’t tell, he tried standing on his tip toes, but couldn’t manage to see over their heads. Too tall. Ok, that was strange, usually, he was the one moving out of the way. 

Then he noticed why. It wasn’t that they were all too tall, he was just too small.

What the heck. He looked down.

Holy bananas.

He was a kid again! and going by his height, a 7-year-old one. He started rubbing his face, and ears, and chest and everything because this was some freaky Friday stuff. The exploration took a stop when his fingers met the sword strapped to his back, he paused for a moment _(Wait, I don't even use swords.)_  Then made sure to trace the groves of the hilt. It was Damian’s. How?

Suddenly he heard cheering. This was weird and all but first he absolutely needed to know what was happening at the front!

“Um, psst! Um, ninja buddy friend,”

“It’s Bob…”

 “Oh right! Yeah, It’s a complex name. Bob, buddy can you give me a lift, I really just want to see what going on, but you know," he pointed out his height, "The milk hasn’t been going well for me you see.”

“Sure, thing Jonah, I was a kid too, so I get it. Hey on the bright side you're looking to be one of the tall ones, so don’t stop drinking that milk!” Bob laughed as he lifted him up onto his shoulders.

“Uh yeah, thanks...Bob.”

His new vantage gave way to a grandiose scene. Wow, there were _a lot_ of people here, thousands of black-clothed figures surrounded a large square clearing. In the distance, he could see the peak of a volcano.

Oh. He'd been here before.  _Dames Homeplace, infinity island_. 

At the edge of the square clearing was a small ornate stage where a man sat on a wooden throne-  _and that was D’s grandpa_. Which could only mean that the lady in the emerald dress sitting next to him was Talia? But then who was the girl sitting next to her?

Whoever she was, she'd have to be the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She kinda looked like Talia, except a lot more pretty, like wow, out of this world pretty. Her head was adorned by a tiara in the form of a snake, it spired around her glistening black hair as her shining eyes reflected an aqua green sea.

Jon could barely get his eyes off her, but a figure in front of the stand managed to get his attention. It was a boy, no older than his current self; fighting 10 grown men like it was nothing. Next to the fight was a cart carrying what looked to be dozens of severed human heads. The blood from the wagon spilled into the clearing, making Jon gag.

The boy's movements…It had to be Damian. That would explain Gramps and Talia, but not the girl. Was this the past? How!? What the heck is going on!?

One of the guys to his side started blowing on a tissue. “Isn’t it beautiful? The young master is becoming a man. Truly a most lovely engagement gift for Miss Cleo, what a lucky girl.”

“More like what a lucky young master, she is a divine catch for sure.” Bob retorted.

WHAT.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait UP.

“Uh, Dam- the  _young master_  is getting engaged to the pretty miss?”

Both Bob and the man looked up at him in utter confusion.

“Sorry, I just hit my head really hard yesterday, um, killing some stuff and It’s been hard for me to recall details, it’s a temporary thing.”

“Typical,” Bob snickered, “What do you think we’re all doing here? This is Miss Cleo's -or the pretty miss as you called her- engagement ceremony. She is to become the master’s betrothed when he delivers her the honorable gift of a 100 severed heads. You must have hit your head pretty hard kiddo, watch yourself, it’s hard enough serving the sacred family without getting fed to man-bats.”

The man with the tissue nodded, “Preach it, brother.”

_Ok. Calm down, Jon. This could be an alternate reality, I mean it could be the past, probably. Most likely. Or you know, he could be trapped in some kind of simulation, because that seemed a much better thought than not knowing his boyfriend was engaged at some point in his life to, like the most beautiful girl in the world._

How? why didn’t Damian tell him!? Awesome. And Just when he thought they were finally in a good place, that maybe, just maybe he had managed to crack the thousand titanium walls that were Damian’s trust.

Suddenly Talia stood.

“Servants, the time has come for the 100th head to be chosen. No longer will prisoners be used, but instead, one of our own will have the honor to die in our young lord’s name.”

The crowd cheered.

“He with the red headband move forth and take his righteous gift.”

“Hey Jonah, that’s you, congrats kid!” Bob exclaimed.

“What? Me? no, wait!” Jon snapped.

The guy next to them also cheered, then everyone in his area did the same. And before he knew it he was being crowd surfed to the front line, where he was thrown into the clearing.

He landed in front of a 7-year-old Damian who was _by the way_ completely drenched in blood, from head to toe. Damian looked at him, sighing as if he already knew exactly how this would end.

“Hey ah…Master, I think this is a mistake. You see I’m color blind, and uh…I must’ve picked the wrong headband.”

Panic mode, Panic mode. Obviously, he wasn’t going to recognize him!

Need to find a way out of this, according to what little he _obviously_ knew about Damian’s past, little D was nothing to sneeze at.

...

_The sun had set upon the gloomy island as the seagulls did their routine flight across the horizon. Jon sat next to Damian at the edge of a cliff overlooking the majesty of the Indian ocean, their hairs dancing a messy ballet with the winds._

"So, what was it like growing up here?"

"Why the sudden question?" Damian asked, a little taken aback.

"Well, this is like your home right? Where you were raised, so I'm just wondering what it was like to grow up in such a gloomy looking place."

Damian contemplated for a while, "Let's just say I would have flayed you without batting an eye, it's just better if you never get to know _him_."

"Wow, hardcore. I can't really imagine it, you know? like a super cute and small- well _smaller_ you, doing something so crazy."

"I'm still growing! and I _was_ and _am_ anything _but_ cute, Kent. It's a complete and utter enigma how you associate that word to me, you should really get that checked out by a healer."

"You mean a doctor? Nah, if this is a sickness then I don't want to be cured."

"Ugh, did you feel that? The utter cringe you just released upon this world?"

Jon playfully nudged his shoulder, "Um, D, I believe you mean, _romantic gold,_ the world should be thanking me." 

"The world should be thanking you for your mere existence, _not_ your horrid pickup lines."

Jon blinked, not used to direct compliments from the al Ghul, "Did you just insert a pickup up line inside a diss of my pickup line? Because that's genius and kinda hot." 

"I have _absolutely_ no idea what you mean, except the genius part of course," Damian smirked "You better go, the guards should be patrolling this area any minute now. My grandfather will be the one doing the flaying is he knows you are here."

...

“Stand up and take out your sword servant, our families expect us to fight like men, not dogs.”

“Can we maybe fight like dogs? I like dogs, dogs are nice. “

“To joke before your death...I do not dislike that, but it will not save you from your divine faith which is to be a gift for my beloved.”

Jon clenched his teeth, feeling a surprising surge of anger. So he even called her  _that?_ It hurt, it hurt so much just how little he knew about the person he's dedicated half of his life to. Goddarnit, he should've insisted, he should've kept asking him, maybe then it wouldn't burn this much to know he'd been so blind.

He glared at the grandstand, where the pretty girl sat. God, he was being so unreasonable, but he couldn't help hating everything about her right now. He didn't know what he would've done if his powers actually freaking worked here!

_~'Jon, you never hit a lady!’ – Mom_

_~‘ Don't be stupid Jon, women are just as deadly as men, don’t hesitate to show the same respect in battle as you would a man.' – Damian (of course)_

“Um, master, I don’t think she’ll like my head very much, it’s full to the brim of crabby puns and yorks…get it! dogs!”

Obviously, Damian wasn't amused because he lunged towards him at full speed. Jon dodged backward, putting his traumatic training sessions with the future version at use.

“Not bad servant, since you have not died yet, I will give you a small reassurance before my blade slays you. I will  _hate_  how much I will  _love_  killing you.”

“This is _liking_ for you? I can't wait for the first date and wait, what?”

Damian calmly plunged the sword in his hand into the dirt and grabbed at the second blade strapped to his back.

The crowd started getting restless. Cheering uncontrollably.

“I cannot help but enjoy the hunt for I was born in likeless to the weapon I hold, born to kill. It... calms and brings peace to my mind. I've come to accept this but in honesty I hate it, I just wanted to give you the courtesy of knowing it is not personal.”

Damian lunged at him again, this time targeting Jon’s feet. (Exactly like D taught him in training.)

Jon jumped as the smaller skirted the ground with the ball of his foot in hopes of tripping him. But Damian predicted the jump and elbowed him in the solar plexus.

Jon heaved, falling to his knees. 

Of course, he forgot about the faint…Christ, if this had been training, that would’ve been like a 1,000 pushups.  _Thank god_ , he was here getting his ass kicked by a 7-year-old and probably about to die because honestly, that sounded a lot more enjoyable than a training day with D.

The young al Ghul kicked his ribs, flipping him unto the floor. He felt the chilling coldness of a blade on his neck.

Ugh, Damian was right (as always) he depended way too much on his powers and it was never more clear than now.

“Wait! Let me say something before I go!”

The steely sword paused.

“Speak, it is your right to say your last words to the living.”

The crowd was going wild, roaring for him to decapitate the 100th present to the soon to be wife.

“You let me in on something, and I just wanted to let you know that... it’s okay. Well not really but like…I mean being born different. But my dad always said that impulses shouldn’t define a person, that we can all be bigger than our emotions and thoughts.”

“And this is going to sound crazy but Damian, there’s nothing in this world you can think, say or do that will make me love you less, in the _past_ or _future_ and…” Jon started tearing up, “I just wished that future you had trusted me enough to know that.”

Damian paused. “You, how dare you say those words so easily?”

"Well-" Suddenly Jon's back started burning up. What the heck?

"Ouch. Ouch. Ouch!"

Damian backed up, on his guard.

Quickly he reached behind for the source, his hand ended up catching the sword on his back and hurling it to the ground next to him.

_Sweet relief._

The sword’s blade was glowing bright red as if dipped in fire.

“You! How do you have Shamshir-e Zomorrodnegār’s second half?” Damian ran to grab at it, studying the blade carefully.

“Shammi-what-now? Wait, you actually named your swords. Oh god,” He really didn’t know much about Damian, did he?

“It is part of a set of two blades given to me at birth. One by my mother and the other by my grandfather. There are no other's like it on this planet, yet these patterns and scratches are an exact replica of the first one. An impossible feat of workmanship unless…” Damian took a deep and thoughtful breath “Okay, this is going to sound a little senseless but If I tackle this logically and take your exceedingly embarrassing words into consideration-”

“Hey, they came from the heart!”

“-It would only yield one possible explanation. That you are not from this timeline…how utterly interesting.”

Jon scratched his head in disbelief, “God I love it when you talk smart to me.”

Damian cringed at the remark.

“Uh! yeah, pretty much, though I don’t really know how I got here.”

Damian gazed solemnly at him, probably thinking a hundred steps ahead like he always does.

“Really no, wow _! A time traveler!_?”

“I have met those who have such powers, it is not out of the realm of possibility.”

“Even as a kid, you're no fun,” Jon sulked.

“Traveler, you seem to know my future self, does that also mean you know who my father is?”

Jon scratched at his nose “Um, well I can’t quite talk about that I think. My dad told me never to spoil the past or future, or it could screw everything up.”

“Your father is wise then. But can you at least confide if I'm ruling the world with dignity? It might actually bring about a better future.”

“Eh, right, I don’t want to spoil it for you…my liege,” Jon smirked

(You rule  _my_  world at least.)

Jon stood up, clenching his injured side. “I can tell you one thing, one day you’ll meet a super handsome, amazing and awesome guy that will love everything about you,” he limped towards the al Ghul “Even the parts you hate.”

Damian put his guard up, pointing a sword at him, but didn’t attack.

“Are you suggesting I will have a romantic involvement with another man? How is that possible? And I am no fool traveler, it is a simple exercise of deduction to know the person you’re referring to is non-other than yourself  _Mr. super handsome, amazing and awesome._  Which begs the question even more of how I would end up with such a pathetic weakling like you?”

“Okay, _ouch_. Believe it or not, I’m actually super strong.”

Damian gestured to punch him, but he dodged and countered with a hook. Immediately the smaller latched on to his arm and used it as leverage to flip him back first into the ground. Damian sat on his stomach and landed an unusually soft punch his face.

Jon grinned, wiping the blood from his nose “Ok, WAS super strong…I lost my powers during the trip here.”

“Uh-huh. For the sake of argument let's say you are actually _not_ as pathetic as you seem right now, how is it possible for two men to be with one another? I have heard nothing of the like in my physiology classes.”

Jon propped himself on his elbows and took a long hard look at the boy who would soon be his entire life, the crowd all but forgotten. “It's not something one thinks about. It just is...”

“You do realize that if you didn’t have my curiosity I would’ve gouged your eyes out and force-fed them to you, right?”

“God, I love you. Even when you want to gouge my eyes off and feed them to me.”

“Grandson.”

Jon saw how in an instant every hair on Damian’s body stood up, he got up on his feet, his back immediately straightening up in the process. Holy cow, he could practically smell the fear, which freaked him out because to him Damian was the pinnacle of fearless. So, this had to be one hell of a monster to put him in this state.

He didn’t quite know much about Ra’s, Damian just never talked about him. When he did say something, it was always some lame quote his gramps said when he was a kid or a stale _'He was a great man'._

And Jon only ever glanced at the guy when he had to sneak (like some cheesy teen drama) into Damian's room after moved over into the League _or_ in a file picture on Bruce's desk. The last time was while visiting his grave with Dami to pay their respects _._ It was a yearly thing, a _depressing_   _thing_ , especially when Talia tagged along.

He tried standing up but was cut off by a blade over his neck. Damian glanced at him, his eyes told him not to move.

“Have you learned nothing from me? What have I said about hesitation?”

Damian froze over, and swiftly kneeled in front of his grandfather, right fist to his chest in a gesture of absolute respect.

“Hesitation is death.”

This was Jon’s chance to escape but every fiber of his body told him to stay still, he didn’t know if it was because of Damian or the fear of knowing he would be immediately struck down by the 10,000 or so people that surrounded the square.

“That is correct. Yet here you are doing just that; how dare you humiliate your bloodline in front of your subjects for one mere dog. Are my lessons just too lenient?”

“No! - no, grandfather. This one just simply caught my interest. I ask for your venerable permission to keep it as a pet for training purposes.”

_A lifetime of training with Dami?_

Jon shivered, pretty sure that was his worst nightmare. And why didn't he just tell him about the time travel thing? Maybe to protect him from something? he wouldn't be surprised if that was the case, he'd probably get tortured for future information on The League.

In the end, Gramps wasn’t having any of it. He stared at Damian then scowled at Jon as if daring him to move.

“Blood of my blood, do you not recall what happened to the last pet you got attached to? Have you yet to learn that to feel affection towards something is the same thing as to destroy it? Now stop this madness and do what you must or I will, just like I did with the previous mutt, pain _included_ ,” He glared at Jon.

_(Godarnit Damian what did you ever find great about this guy!?)_

Damian bowed his head in shame, “Yes, grandfather,” then stood up.

“No, wait! You don’t have to do this Damian!” He yelled as he tried to stand up, but his plea was only answered with a kick to the jaw, completely throwing him off balance.

“Shut up.” Damian grimaced as he grabbed the sword Jon had brought from the future, “You said nothing I do would make you love me less, I wonder if that will still be true after I take your life.”

Jon smiled, wiping at the blood on his chin, “You know what D, somehow…I would love you even more.”

“You damn fool…”

Then he felt it. The acidic metal swiftly penetrating his chest, only inches away from his heart. It hurt. It hurt so freaking much. Why was this happening? Why was it that the most painful experiences of his life had the person he most loved at the other side?

In the blur of it all, he could see as Damian kneeled over him, his hands still on the hilt, entombing it ever deeper into him.

He rested his head on the fists that held the katana in place, his boyish complexion looking tired at life itself. And he just looked down at Jon with a face made of pure sorrow, one that cried without crying.

“How could you ever love someone like me?” He whimpered. "Just look at where it has gotten you."

Jon weakly reached up to wipe away the tears that weren’t there, “Ugh…you ha…kinda not giving me a choice here buddy…making a face like that.”

“Child! how dare you go against my words for a mere dog. I who have fed and raised you!” Ra’s howled. “I assume you must be ready to face the consequences of your actions then. Talia the rod!”

Talia grimly walked to her father’s side, an iron poker in hand already glowing fiery red from the heat. He watched in absolute horror as it dripped molten rock from its tip making the dirt screaming in the form of steam.

Then suddenly he recalled the first time he and Damian made love. It was then that he truly examined his body from head to toe, a beautiful form utterly covered in scars. He remembered the way his back arched inwards, making the beads of sweat roll over _3 distinct marks_ that ran all the way from his shoulders to his lower back. It looked like snakes trying to mimic the roman numeral for 3.

_~ He gently kissed the grooved lines, pecking at them one by one, from top to bottom as if expecting it to heal the skin and all the pain that came with them._

_~ “How did you get these big ones?” he asked, kissing away._

_~ “Does it matter? It was lifetimes ago when things were much simpler. Now are we going to do this or not?”_

So this was the cause.

His vision began to blur but he could still make out how Damian moved to face his grandfather, kneeling at his feet the way ninja's do when they've done something bad (Seiza Damian called it?). With his back straight as a column, he took his shirt off, ever ready to receive whatever sick punishment awaited him like it was an everyday thing. He noticed there was only one snake on his back at this point in time, which would make this occasion the second line. 

“Of course, grandfather. I am yours.”

Jon tried to stand up, then was very painfully reminded of his predicament.

“No, Damian!”

For a brief moment, Damian looked back at him, a faint smile bloomed on his lips and Jon’s heart broke. Because it was _that_ kind of smile, the type that was the complete opposite of what a smile should be.

 _No_ , this can't be happening, why was he so useless when it counted the most!?

He grabbed at the hilt and tugged on it and holy moly the pain, it was brutal and why's everything getting so dark...

(What...)

(...)

Jon gasped awake.

Ok, almost passed out there. One more time then.

He pulled with all his strength this time but it was no use. He was way too weak from all the blood loss. And the fact that he was professionally impaled to the ground didn't help. In the end, he was hopelessly left to witness a gruesome scene.

The tip of the poker dripped over Damian exposed back and steam rose from the boiling wounds.  “My son, trust me when I say I will not enjoy this,” said Talia as she lowered the glowing rod over his back.

"I doubt that very much mother."

Then he heard it, heard the horrifying sound a poker makes when it comes in contact with skin. It sizzled and bubbled over the intrusion. Yet not even a squeak escaped Damian's mouth, he didn't even blink! Just how used was he to this kinda abuse?

He reached for him but returned with dirt under his nails instead. There had to be a way. Jon pulled again at the sword, making it budge slightly, then again and again, as many times as it took to get this thing off him. "Agh!" His insides were ripping themselves apart, the ground below him starting to flood with his blood, but there was no freaking way he was sitting around for this, not _now_ that he could be here for him!

"No Damian!" he screamed, muddied tears came down in response to his desperation "Please! I'll take his place...please."

Suddenly everything just stopped. The steam emanating from Damian's back. Frozen still. The birds in the sky suspended like ornaments.

"What?"

The sword in his chest started vibrating, making more blood spill.

"Aghhhh!" 

Jesus, the pain! What the heck? He looked up the vibrating sword. Something reflected of its glowing red blade. It was _his_  Damian, from his present time back in the desert. He was sitting on a table, alone in front of a bonfire?

Suddenly the sword spoke _“Thou hath accepted my master’s nature and given me thyself's starry blood. I deem thou worthy to live once more. Go now or thou will perish in this aether.”_

“What!? No, I have to save Damian!” He didn’t know what was happening, but he didn’t care. Right now all that mattered was saving him!

_“You will choose, this one or the other. But know that what you are witnessing is but a construct of memories, staying would mean your true death.”_

“What…” he looked at his Damian in the reflection and then back at the younger version, being burned senseless.

He was finally here for him when he needed Jon the most and…

“You expect me to choose between them!?”

“Life is a choice child, now choose.”

You know what hurt the most? It was that he could pretend to think about it all he wanted but in the end, he already knew the answer.

_~ After kissing the 3 rd  and last snake, he stopped to caress his nose against Damian's lower back then nibbled his way up to the neck._

_~ ‘Of course, it matters. I’d wish you'd open up a little about your past sometimes D’_

_~ Damian arched down to the gentle nips at his skin, 'The past is dead Kent. I'd like to let it rest, permanently.’_

_~ ‘I just feel like if you talk about it, it’ll let me understand and help you more, you know, just be a better partner and all.”_

_~  Damian turned to look at him and lightly cupped his flushed face ‘I don’t need you to help me, Jon, I just need you to be there when it counts.’ he said firmly following his words with a kiss._

“Take me back.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **-Did you like it?**
> 
> I would really, **_positively ADORE if you left a comment and some kudos_** if you liked it! It really makes a difference by letting me know that I'm doing something right. It also inspires me to do more of these!
> 
>  **-More chapters?**
> 
> If you'd like to be notified for the next epic chapter in the coming days **_Bookmark & Subscribe to my profile_**. I give notice to them and it's always inspiring to read the bookmark comments. 
> 
> **-Feedback.**
> 
> I'm a bit new to fics and writing itself so I would appreciate any constructive critiques. ~
> 
> Other Jondami Works by my favorite authors that you should _really_ check out:
> 
> [The Rest of My Days](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15695988/chapters/36475644)  
> [Here There Be Wonders](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15200036/chapters/35252885)
> 
> The poem Damian was reciting is called Fireflies by [Rabindranath Tagore](https://terebess.hu/english/tagore5.html).


	4. The Sound of Everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > Hey, I'm back! I'd like to thank all the people who commented on the previous chapters for all the great motivation and support! I dedicate this chapter to them. Remember to **comment and give kudos if you like this work,** it really makes a difference! **Bookmark & Subscribe** to be on the lookout for the next chapter.
> 
>  **~Main outfits for this chapter:**  
>     
>  **Jon's / 19 / 6'3** : [White suit.](https://twitter.com/robinxbatman/status/804345970960039936)
> 
>  **Damian's / 21/ 5'5** : A gold/emerald accented [ mask](https://imgur.com/a/qBG00DA) and [ white thobe (now bloodied red.)](https://imgur.com/a/GBEDAYE) with a [sword strap vest](https://imgur.com/a/mFs01oW) on top.

 

> In suffering, blooms love,
> 
> And in struggle, true strength. 

 

_~_

 

_4:12 AM_

_Kent Residence._

_On the 13th year of Jon's life._

He very carefully opened his bedroom window and stepped a foot inside. It hurt. The foot that stepped on the bed. The arm that held the window up. His soul. It all hurt.

That’s what happens after a practice session with Damian.

_The lights turn on._

Jon froze. Then smiled.

His mom wasn’t smiling though. Like every night she stood there, arms crossed, tapping her foot on the floor, with a first aid kit in hand.

 _Darnit._  He even made sure to come a little later today, so she’d be too tired to wait for him.

He fully stepped on the bed “Oh. Hi Ma’, a nice night we’re having, ain’t it?” He said, scratching at his head. 

She ran to him, “Oh baby! You’re bleeding again!”

He was confused for a second, then looked at down at his bloody clothes and arms. Right. As always, he was all bruised up from head to toe. The blood dripped all over his bed and all he could think about was how he’d have to explain this to dad tomorrow.

“I- I tripped?”

His mom grabbed both his arms and to inspected them. She opened the first aid kit and began working on a big cut on his left hand.”

“Don’t worry, I’m okay and It’ll heal anyway.”

“You were with him again weren’t you?”

He looked away, not wanting to have this conversation, yet again. “Um. No, like I said I just tripped.... Very hard.”

“Jon, you do know you’ve literally given me the same excuse every time. Hon, if you’re gonna lie, at least do it right. Honestly, just like your father…It’s kinda embarrassing at this point.”

Jon pulled his hands away, “Hey! And I’m not lying!” but she just yanked it back.

His mom sighed, obviously tired of the old same scenario. “Jonathan Samuel Kent—'

_(Oh. Oh)_

 “—Me and your father have grounded you a hundred times already and short of imprisoning you - and trust me, we’ve considered it - all I can really do as your mother is let you know that whatever you have going on with Bruce’s boy, it’s something that’s not ever worth destroying yourself over.

“But-”

“And yes, it will heal. But what I’m talking about isn’t just your body Jon, but your mind. A bruise on your arm will heal in a day, but one on the mind may last forever. Even for you… And Jon, he’s a killer.”

“WAS. And mom he’s my friend. Who I actually really like hanging out with. Like  _a lot_. So our patrols and training are more like band-aid's than bruises. Even if the band-aid hurts sometimes... And all this,” He raised both his bloody arms. “It’s just to make me stronger, so I can protect more people, protect you… and you know, just be able to help Pops fight crime.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said you tripped?”

“I did! I just wanted to…ugh.”

After cleaning the gash, she reached for the medical tape. “Honey, I don’t need you to protect me, I just need you to be safe, that’s all. Honestly, do you have any idea how difficult it is for a mom to see her child come home every day, at unholy hours of the night, all beat up and bloody? Because It’s actually the worst.”

She moved to his right hand now.

“Ma', really, I’m fine. This is nothing.” He was used to it and after so many beatings--- excuse me, ‘ _Training sessions_ …it didn’t phase him anymore.

The important thing is ~~he was getting better at using his powers.~~

_(No.)_

The important thing is…he was with him.

He couldn’t quite pinpoint what about  _him_ was fun but, but he was. Maybe the way he’d always bring him his favorite snack (Scooby-doo cookies) before training or how he’d invite him to watch some lame ass, greyscale crime-fighting movie right after training, like some weirdo.

After she finished rubbing some alcohol on the cut, she paused.

_Her tears surprised him._

“God Jon,” She sniffled, “Just how much more do you have to take, to realize how wrong this is…”

 _He’d never forget the first time he’d ever made his mom cry._  

~

 

The feeling of consciousness coming to you is weird. You never think about it when you wake up from sleep and It’s especially weird when you can’t breathe.

_**(CAN’T BREATHE.)** _

“Damian!” Jon gasped awake to a mouth full of burning hot water.

He screamed, but only air bubbles would come out.

(Where was he?)

He dared to open his eyes and was surprised the water didn’t burn as much as he thought it would. But you know what Jon hated more than boiling hot water in his eyes? Everything he was seeing right now. Every single thing.

First, he was in a womb? It’s the best way he could describe it. The fleshy sack that encased him was full to the brim of thick and slimy red water which he was completely hoping was  _not_ blood. Which is wasn't. _Nope_.

The worst part of it all was the hands. Like something straight out of a budget horror movie, hundreds of them pushed against the walls stretching the womb inwards as they tried to break in. And judging by the small tears they were making, the walls weren’t going to be holding out for much longer.

Jon could hear them. Hundreds. No.  _Thousands._

_‘Help!’_

_‘Why did you kill me!?’_

_‘I want my mommy!’_

_‘It hurts! It hurts so much!’_

_‘Give me back my life!’_

These screams weren’t like anything he’s ever heard before (And he’s heard  _a lot_ ). It’s as if someone gifted misery itself a megaphone and that megaphone could transmit everything directly into your brain in high-quality audio. On instinct, his hands went up to his ears in hope of drowning out the screeches, but even still, he could hear them all the same. All of it reminded him of a time when this was a daily thing, right before Damian taught him how to control the voices...

The feeling of something grabbing his leg abruptly snapped him out the flashback. He glanced down and saw a taste of what was waiting for him outside the womb. A zombie looking dude straight out from World War Z, was trying to make a snack out of his ankle. Somehow, he vaguely recognized him. Oh. _It was the last guy little Damian decapitated!_  the one at the square landing.

( _Wait don’t tell me these screams… are all from the people Damian killed!?_ )

 _‘I served you!’_  it shrieked as it took a bite.

“Holy gravies!” Jon kicked down, shattering all his teeth. 

_The zombie retreated in shame._

“Sorry!” 

(Ok. Powers are back.)

His ankle stung a bit but that was the least of his problems, because right where he bit him, a black spiderweb-like spot started growing, visibly poisoning him. The wound began shriveling, aging his skin rapidly.

Then it dawned on him, that even with his powers, he could actually _die_ here. 

_(This is real.)_

He felt the horrifying realization set every nerve on his body into overdrive, especially his optic ones, which were now seeing how a horde of skeletal hands was tearing through the hole the previous zombie had made.

_‘You killed my daughter and me!’_

_‘Why, master why?!’_

_‘I trusted you!’_

Jon felt horrible for these people but he had no intention of ending up as zombie kibble anytime soon. He quickly studied the area and landed on a very tiny pinprick of light right above him. He reached for it and felt some kind of glass surface, so he wiped it, pushing away the layers of blood and fleshy muck. Finally, light came through.

_(‘Halleluiah!’)_

Without thinking about it twice he punched upward. Next thing he knows it feels like he was digging himself through dirt. First, his hands went through, then shoulders, then stomach.

“Ptui!” He spat, coughing out a gallon’s worth of dirt, blood, and worms. “Ughhh!”

Then he took the biggest breath of fresh air he'd ever taken in his life. He skimmed the area and noticed he was right back in the cemetery. Except this time he was literally coming out of the tomb he died on. He gazed down and saw as half his body was submerged in red boiling goop. It felt like he had taken a swim inside a frozen lake and he’d just punched himself through the ice. But instead of ice, it was a grave and instead of water, it was blood.

Pretty sure the womb broke, because right now he could feel himself being pulled down by like a million hands. “Let go!” He kicked down into the blood, hard, rising a huge splash of gore that killed most of the grass and insects that dared get in its way.

He dug his finger into the dirt in front of him, then pulled and pulled and pulled until the force of the crawling _the hell out of there_ was stronger than the force of a mob of angry zombies dragging him in.

_‘hELP!’‘wHY DID YOU KILL ME!?          ’‘yOU’RE THE DEVIL!’‘iT HURTS! iT HURTS SO MUCH!’‘yOU DESERVE YOU DIE!’ ‘hELP!’‘wHY DID YOU KILL ME!?                 ’‘yOU’RE THE DEVIL!’‘iT HURTS! iT HURTS SO MUCH!’‘yOU DESERVE YOU DIE!’’GIVE US THE MURDERER!’ ‘hELP!’‘wHY DID YOU KILL ME!?’‘yOU’RE THE DEVIL!’‘iT HURTS! iT HURTS SO MUCH!       ’‘yOU DESERVE YOU DIE!’ ‘hELP!’‘wHY DID YOU KILL ME!?                 ’‘yOU’RE THE DEVIL!’‘iT HURTS! iT HURTS SO MUCH!’‘yOU DESERVE YOU DIE!’’GIVE US THE MURDERER!’_

The screams drilled into his head. His ears started bleeding and It felt like he was 13 again, when it appeared like the world was a cage of suffering and evil.

“God, I’m so sorry. I’ll come back to save you but you need to let me go!”

He kept crawling and kicking himself out and it was only when his feet were out of the hole, that it quickly closed. Just like that, leaving only a trail of hellish looking smoke. The ghostly hands that still held on to him disintegrated into the wind.

He lifted himself up on all fours and gripped his stomach. 

_~Growl_

 (It hurts.)

He vomited. An abrupt flow of what seemed like endless amounts of blood, flesh, and dirt ejected from his mouth. Gallons upon gallons of crimson, lava-like liquid poured onto the lifeless ground spreading through a large chunk the cemetery.

“Gakhh…” Jon retched, relieved to let go of the last drops of demonic barf. The steamy musk rising from it made his eyes water.

This may actually be the worst day of his life.

Also. He was butt freaking naked.

He was so occupied on not  _dying_  (again) that he didn’t realize he was doing it with his junk hanging out. “How could it get any worse than this?”

_That’s right he said it. Sue him._

And obviously, a mortal such as he should’ve never challenged the horror movie gods because as soon as he lifted his head, he saw an elderly couple, just staring at him. Obviously frozen in fear.

_Ok. **Definitely**  the worst day of his life._

 “Since when? Wait! this isn’t what it looks like!” He tried to get up but slipped (on the GALLONS of blood he’d just VOMITED in front of these people) and landed on his back, full spread-eagle. His peeper was now staring directly at them, providing what many would modernly know as the _money shot_.

The old man snapped out from whatever trance he was in and screamed and not wasting any time he ran to the opposite direction as if his life depended on it.

ONLY. The old man.

Granny didn’t budge, instead, she winked at him and whistled like a starving wolf ready to pounce on its prey.

He blushed and immediately covered his bits with both his hand. “Uhm.” The awkward silence hung for a few seconds...

But before he could say anything the old man came back (visibly angry) and whisked the old lady away with him.

He exhaled in relief and let his head rest back on the wet ground, using that momentum to sit up. A small splash of blood surfed in response.

He rubbed some coagulated leftovers off his eyes and mouth, stared at his drenched hands, then back the tombstone he came out of. Chunks of rocks were spread all over the cemetery, probably from when he punched himself out of hell (Or whatever that was). The shallow grave left behind was bubbling with a mixture of blood and guts. It looked like a dead body had dug themselves out but then melted before they could start their Santa Clarita Diet TV hit show.

He felt bad for whoever's grave that was. "Sorry..."

Even after the demonic hole had closed, Jon could still hear them in his head. The screams of the damned, wanting answers and willing to sacrifice anything in their way for them. And he wondered, just how many people had Damian really killed to pile up such so much hatred.

Suddenly it all sunk in. The blood, the flesh, the zombies, the dream, his mom’s visit, little D, the pretty girl. All of it.

He kicked away at the puddle under him, splashing the blood into the distance. God, it was everywhere, no exaggeration needed. It literally felt like he was floating atop a red sea.

Then he just…

Started crying.

Tearing up like some crybaby, like what Damian used to call him. God, he thought he was over that phase in his life. But there they were, tears, one after the other and you know what? To  _heck_  with it! If there was ever a time to cry, it was now godarnit. And so, he did, because this really was,  _officially_ , the worst day of his life.

He could feel the lukewarm drops washing away some of the dried blood on their way down his face. A sudden cold gust of wind blew and normally? His hair would be swaying in the wind, but this time it stood still under the weight of liquid death. He shivered, wrapping his hands around himself (And the bits) from the abrupt cold front.

He paused and gazed at his stained hands. They were shaking.

"What the hell…stop.” He demanded. “Come on, you’re the son of Superman, greatest and bravest hero on earth!” But now it wasn’t just his hands, but his whole body that shook in defiance.

(Stop. Shaking)

“Come on Jon, Time for some hero-ing!”

He pushed his body forward in an effort to get up but slipped again face first into the dead grass, immediately followed by a large splash. 

He punched down, cratering the ground below. More splashing. “DARNIT!”

On his second attempt, he rose up on all fours and just… stayed there. A liquid mix of gore and tears dripped down his hair right into a bloody and distorted reflection of his face.

 _ **'Look where it has gotten you’**_  

Little Damian’s words echoed in his head, like the deafening ring of a school bell.

(Honestly, he’s only ever mustered up the courage to ask him the question once… )

Suddenly, a similar feeling began welling up inside him.

 _‘Someone please save us!’ ‘Help me!’ ‘Mommy!’ ‘Give me your purse!’ ‘No, don’t kill me’ ‘Not my son!’_ _Someone, please save us!’ ‘Help me!’ ‘Mommy!’ ‘Give me your purse!’ ‘No, don’t kill me’ ‘Not my son!’_ _Someone, please save us!’ ‘Help me!’ ‘Mommy!’ ‘Give me your purse!’ ‘No, don’t kill me’ ‘Not my son!_ _‘‘Someonepleaseave us!Help me!mmyGive me your purs don’t killNot myn!’ _eonase save us!’ elp me!’ ‘MommyGive me your purseo, don’t killNot my son_ _meone save us!lp me!ommyGivmeyour purse!’don’t kill meNot my son!_   _‘__

_(Oh no.)_

No. No! Not again!

The whole dying thing must’ve thrown something off in his head

(No. No. No). In a desperate bid, he slammed his forehead to the ground.

Once, then another, then again, and again, AND AGAIN!

The continuous impact cracked the dirt open creating web-like fracture marks that spread into the distance.

In the end, all that managed to do was add more blood to a ground that didn't need it.

**_‘Listen to me.’_ **

_‘Why are you doing this!’? ‘Help me!’ ‘Dad where are you!’ ‘Give me everything you've got!’ ‘No, don’t kill me’ ‘Not my her, please!’_

God... It felt like someone was sawing his head open.

_**'Let my movement and rhythm be the center point of your concentration’** _

_(Make It stop.)_

**' _Me,_ be the only noise in your ears.'**

Control it.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath and just…

_‘Thump-thump’_

_Control it._

_‘Thump-thump’_

_‘Thump-thump’_

Ah, and there it was, the literal sound of peace. It came to him as easily as breathing, no need to concentrate. A sudden sense of warmth washed over him, like someone had emptied a bucket of _w_ hat _good feelings were made of_ on his head. His muscles relaxed, his breathing became somewhat tolerable again and the ringing slowly started to die down.

 “Woah.” It’s all he could say to that. Jon sat back, looked up and closed his eyes as complete and utter relief set in. It was hard to describe… the feeling of being so utterly connected to someone in this way.  Ecstatic? Out of this world?

And sure, it was a little scary how used he was to having  _him_  inside his head. And  _yeah_ , in the back of it all, it did feel like he never had a choice in all of this, in loving him…But in the end, the feeling was  _oh so worth it,_ especially in times like this.

He paused.

“Love…”

Somehow the word itself was too normal for what he felt, too small, too _pure_ …

Jon shook his head. “Nope, no time for this!”

Ok, so Damian was okay. A little slower than usual, which meant he wasn’t fighting or in any immediate danger, actually this particularly low rhythm from him meant he was in a bitter mood, anger (nothing new) and just…sad.

_(Yeah, that’s probably my fault for dying on him.)_

One more deep breath.

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

“Shake it off Jon, like you always do.”

And with that, he pushed himself up, no slipping this time. He looked around. Right. Cemetery. Just came back from the dead. No biggie.

He tried recalling exactly what happened before that. Um, so he had woken up on Damian’s lap? Then D started pouring some strange liquid from his eyes (that were definitely  _not_  tears according to him) and then kissing him like never before and god it felt  _sooo_  freaking good, so much, it made him feel like he was gonna pass out from, well,  _goodness_  and he did. Next thing he knew, he’s dead. But from what?

 _Right_ , the sword. He looked around, quickly landing his gaze on a very familiar looking blade, it was buried in the ground next to the tombstone.

He shivered as the memories of  _stabbings_  came to haunt him, then reached down to rub the battle scar or at least what would’ve been if it was still there, instead he felt the usual smooth skin.

Wow, It’s as if his boyfriend  _never stabbed him to death_. “Just...Great.”

As much as Jon preferred throwing the thing into the pits of hell, he knew how important it was to Damian. So, he walked over and picked it up, making sure to hold it as far away as possible. _Gently_.

“Um, sooooo, thanks for bringing me back?”

“…”

“Are you like an angel or something? What’s your name?”

“…”

“Talking to a metal toothpick Jon.  _Very_  sane.” He murmured as he hooked the sword to his back.  _Gently_.

He surveyed the area for a little bit more, hoping nobody _else_ had laid witness to that cringe or any of this Friday the 13 th scene for that matter, because he’d pretty much be charged with a hundred counts of murder. No questions asked and you know what? He wouldn’t blame them.

And nope, no hidden detective anywhere. But,  _oh_ ,  _what’s this?_

“So here you were! What was your name again?” Lying next to where the sword had stood, was the bird mask Damian had given him on their way here. “Ra, birdy of the sun? or something like that.” He wiped the blood and dirt and put it on, finding relief in that fact that his life would be spared (again). Last time he lost something that D gave him, well…it didn’t end too good.

A sudden chill ran across his back, and the mist he barely noticed was there began to clear up. Behind it, the shape of a black dog stared at him. He rubbed his eyes. “Huh?” Making sure to  _super focus_ , but whatever it was, had disappeared along with the fog.

Instantly the clouds cleared, the sun shone and the birds began to sing. Even a rainbow appeared.

“Okaaay. Nope, not weird at all.”

“Hey, computer?”

A robotic response followed, “Hello Jon, how can I help you?”

“Oh, you can talk?! and you know my name?”

“Of course, Jon, Damian carefully programmed me to best serve you. I am his most advance assistant technology creation to date.”

“Aha! So, he did make you just for me! And It wasn’t just because I had a fat face. That cute little…I knew it!”

“That is correct. Actually, according to my data. You are at a perfect body mass index level relative to your height and body weight.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me this whole month. What’s my favorite food?”

“Originally it was Memphis-Style wet ribs with a side of tater tots but recently, in part due to the locality, you have acquired quite the taste for chickpea shawarma sandwiches.”

“Ok, I trust you with everything.”

“I’m honored, Jon.”

“So, hey, this is really random but you don’t happen to have a fresh set of clothes laying around in there do ya'?” He joked, scratching at his head.  “Haha, probably not but—"

“Of course, Jon. Deactivating compression.”

“Wait, wha-!”

Suddenly a tiny string of white came out of the eye of Ra and just like uncle Barry’s, It expanded into a super suit!

“Wow! Thank you! Oh." He paused. 

Whatever sense of wonder and nostalgia had taken ahold of Jon, was immediately squashed into smithereens by the thing that landed on his arms. It was  _that_  suit, the one he hated, but Damian loved, apparently.

_It was a whole thing, he didn’t want to get into right now._

He held the suit up in all its monochrome glory. “So, I don’t mean to be picky here, but you don’t happen to have something more  _colorful_  in there, do ya'?”

“Sorry Jon, those are the only set of clothes available in inventory. Do you wish to activate camouflage mode?”

He sighed. “Yeah, Sure. Wait, what’s that?”

In an instant, the mask changed its color scheme to fit the super suit, white and black.

“Oh. Apart from the color, that’s pretty cool.”

“Thank you, Jon.”

In the end, he put it on, of course. And without wasting any more time, he hovered into the air and shot towards Damian.

~

 

 _He’s only ever mustered up the courage to ask him the question once_...and he would've blushed to the memory if the circumstances weren't so dire.

_…_

He wrestled him to the kitchen, where he grabbed a patch of Damian’s hair and finally managed to pin his face against the kitchen countertop. His jutting ass wriggled every which way, like a captured snake refusing to accept it's bindings. He couldn't have that, now could he? He thrust forward and put a stop to the rebelliousness with his hardness, taking the opportunity to grind against his clothed opening. He could feel it, the marshmallowy mound puckering up against his stiff erection, wanting him so bad.

“Gosh, Dami…I feel you.”

“Hot day. No underwear." 

Jon tightened his grip on his hair. Enough this time to pull his head back and hold a knife against the thin skin, earning him a priceless moan. Damian leaned into it a little more, adjusting the blade on his neck so it was right under his Adam's apple. 

“Right… there. Fuck.” Damian shivered.

“Ah. D, This isn’t right... One bad slip and I could actually... kill you.”

Damian reached a hand behind him and grabbed Jon's shirt, desperately pulling his stiffness closer into his scorching opening. “Say’s the guy who can’t stop moving his hips. Besides you. Shit…You won’t. That blade is an old one, blunt, retired, useless.”

Jon gave a hard thrust and took a moment to breathe “So, um, you’ve actually... killed people with this?”  He said, gesturing at the ornate knife.

“Gods, yeah....you got bigger? Fucking pervert.”

Damian didn’t like that pause so he started gliding his thick ass, spreading his cheeks up and down his the stiffness of his jeans. Jon felt himself bumping into his warm spot with every stroke. Up. Down. Up. Down. His precum was leaking through his pants now, making the movement produce all kinds of unholy sounds.

“~ _Damiiii...How ...many_?”

“Hah.  _A lot_. More.”

Jon tightened the grip he had on his hair and pushed the knife into his neck a little more than he wanted to.

“Yes. Just like that.”

“HOW." He accentuated the word with one hard thrust, making the countertop shake from the force.

“Fuck!” Damian whimpered.

“MANY.” And another one, this time the flower base by the dishwasher fell and shattered against the floor. The rough movements made the skimpy gym leggings D was wearing rip slightly at the seams. He glanced down and gosh he could see it, through the small tears, his drenched hole closed and opened, desperately looking for a cock to grip on to.

He couldn’t take it anymore. The sound of a belt buckle intruded as he unzipped his pants with his left hand, leaving his right one to firmly hold the knife.

He held his dick and sloppily stroked it against his entrance, rutting impatiently on his barely exposed entrance. “Damian…” Jon threatened, ever so carefully inching the knife deeper into his skin.

More sweet moans.

“That…wasn’t an answer” Jon growled, this time biting hard on the smaller’s shoulder. The force unleashed a metallic burst of flavors that almost took him over the edge.

“Ahhh~, god, fucking mongrel.” 

Damian reached back, clutched Jon's hair and violently yanked down so that Jon’s ear was next to his mouth.

“If you make me scream with that disgusting thing of yours, I’ll tell you,” Damian panted, making sure his ass emphasized every word with a wet sobbing slide up and down his throbbing member.

_He never got his answer that night._

~

 

Beyond the airy dusk for the Egyptian desert, a man laid in the far corner of a blood-drenched room. This man did not cozy his form to a warm and loving partner. Oh no, but to a cold and lifeless blade almost as large as his figure.

Back towards a corner.  _(‘So, no one can attack you from behind.’)_

Head facing down.  _(‘To not expose your neck’.)_

Sheath tip on the floor.  _(‘So, you can feel the vibrations of steps’.)_

His cold and metallic companion lay neatly between his legs, as the top of it leaned against his shoulder. The sound of pen on paper resonated throughout the room as he wrote out the country’s new constitution. On any given day he would be celebrating this achievement. Ruling a country, though a small feat by his standards, is always a cause for reveling.

But right now, all he could really concentrate on was the feeling of cool steel anchoring him to reality. All in scarce remembrance that he was indeed alive (Even if the current environment reflected otherwise.)

‘ _You killed me!’_

_‘You deserve to die!’_

_‘Kill yourself.’_

_‘I was so loyal to you!_

He paused his writing noticing the ink on the quill pen was running out. So, dipped down onto the floor where there was plenty more and continued writing.

Oh, Right. The voices.

For as long as he could remember, they had become a part of his daily life for him. He honestly barely noticed them, especially when... he was with Jon. And sometimes, in exceedingly rare occasions, they would disappear altogether. (He still needed to figure that one out.)

_He knew what and who they were. He could call each one by name._

**_All 1,950 of them._ **

It felt like the very thought could chill down the entire room. With that in mind, he became more conscious of the blood that dripped down from the roof onto his hair, and from his hair down into his face where most of it settled.

If he were being realistic, he would diagnose himself with an early onset of mild psychosis triggered by what would _normally_ be considered, _past traumatic events_. Followed by a daily self-prescription of 12.5 mg of Clozaril and he'd be done with it. Bye, bye voices. After all, mental health was nothing to be ashamed of.

It actually would not surprise him in the least if he were genetically predisposed to these things. He’d always suspected his mother and father suffered from mental illness. Especially his mother. It would not be out of place to see her in her belladonna garden having full conversations with the wind.

Yet, a stubborn part of him didn’t want to be realistic. There was a sickening comfort in facing the consequences of one’s actions. If his, was living with the weight of every death on his shoulder then he would gladly bear through it and walk it in stride, as an al Ghul should.

> _'The path of righteous purging should never be walked lightly, Damian. For it is one full of unspeakable evils and evil, my grandson, never dies.' - Ra's al Ghul_

He had to admit that despite his Grandfather's many flaws, he was a wise man.

A voice echoed from behind the chamber door. “Sir, Preparations have finished, we await your orders.”

Ah, time for phase two of the mission. Which  _may or may not_  have Involved some details he had  _omitted_  from Jon. That maybe Abstens  _just so happened_  to be standing above one of the biggest hidden oil reserves on the planet which could potentially make him and the Al Ghul hundreds of billions of dollars….

To be fair, he did plan to tell him... later on in the development.

_(But so much for that.)_

Honestly, the whole thing was supposed to be simple.

Save the country (with Jon).

Rule it (with Jon).

Then build an oil extracting company as the foundation of its economy. (Hopefully, with Jon.)

Piece of cake. After all, he was bred to rule the world. A small country would be child’s play, especially if it made him and his empire filthy rich.

“So much for that too...” Half of it, at least.

He did still plan to finish the mission...he needed to if he wanted to honor’s Jon’s passing at its fullest.

His army had already set out to silently dispose of every master within the republic, leaving only the slaves. A dozen or so important ones were to be left alive for information extraction.

_None of them were innocent._

The  _light_  from his  _lantern_  illuminated the pen and paper just right. The wet floor was a little uncomfortable, but he always felt more at ease sitting on the ground.

As he wrote this new constitution. One without slavery, without prejudice, he wondered if his father would be just a little bit proud that his son liberated an entire country from chains.

_'The ends don’t justify the means.'_

It’s what he would say. A line he’s heard so many times before during his stay at the manor.

That’s why they could never really  _click_ , and god knows he tried. His stubborn father could never understand that sometimes bad things had to be done for the greater good. But he also didn’t blame the guy, after all, he was just as stubborn.

He gripped the paper, glancing at the blood on his hands.

“Sir?”

“Be on standby, for now!”

“Yes, sir!” The voice echoed back.

As soon as he turned back to his writing. His neck tightened. The sharp side of blade scraped at the delicate skin under the small scar by his Adam’s apple.

“Jon…”

“Hi, Damian.”

Until now he’d only ever heard voices. This was the first time he could feel, hear and smell something that he knew wasn’t there. (Guess he’s really going to have to take those damn pills, huh? But was this that bad?)

He knew it wasn’t real. **Jon is dead.**

But here it was again. How many times has it been in the last hour or so? That he had seen Jon walk over and hold a knife to his neck, only disappear?

“If you’re going to do it, just do it, you disgraceful coward.”

_(It was only fair.)_

Jon blankly stared at him, unfazed. He grabbed Damian’s knees and grinned. “Don’t you have any shame Dami?” He said as he spread his legs wide open, taking notice to his growing bulge.

He felt a sudden heat behind his ears and instinctively high kicked Jon’s chin into high heaven. “Fuck you!” but In the end, Jon looked back down, undaunted by the attack. The knife on his throat tightened, as so did his pants.

“Is it the deafening screams? Or Are you recalling  _that_  time, Dami? It was fun, wasn’t it? Oh and sorry for the scratch.” Jon said pointing at the small mark on under his apple. “I just got too excited that time, you know?”

Jon clutched his arm and pulled him onto the ground, pinning his back to the wet floor. The blood splashed under him, drenching them both in red.

“You wanted me to kill you that time, right? Wanted the easy way out.” Jon said as he placed himself in between his legs.

Damian leaned up and spat in his face, “Fuck _. You. You unreal piece of shit.”_

But the specter calmly wiped his face “I always did like this feisty side of you.” He said as he grabbed Damian’s Katana from the floor.

“The _evil_ villain, killed by the  _righteous_  hero, as things should be, right?” Jon continued. “Then no more voices. No more blood. No more al Ghul. Then all is good the world. End of story.”

“Stop.”  _(This is pathetic.)_

Jon leaned down and pecked his chin. He followed it with a trail of wet kissed down his neck. “Got your hole so wet just thinking about how I could slit that pretty little throat of yours all while being impaled on my cock, Huh?”

Damian's face contorted in disgust.

_(You’re supposed to be an al Ghul.)_

Jon pulled the katana away from his neck and lifted it up. He gripped the handle so that the tip of the blade was right above his neck. “But in the end, you just ended up killing _me_ , like you do to everyone else,  _So. Not. Fair._   _D_.”

“Stop it.” _(You’re not the victim here.)_

“So why don’t we even the odds? You know, bring balance to the world."

(Why are you doing this?)

(Don’t think about it.)

(Just do it.)

**Now.**

_The sword plunged down._

He felt it. The wrenching and uncured tip of steel ripping the first layers of his skin.

Blood splattered everywhere.

_But it wasn’t his._

The sword which was supposed to bring him peace was stopped by the very hands that promised him justice.

“Is that all you got? Weren’t you going to bring balance to the world? or some bullshit like that?”

But all he got in response were unexpected tears.

“You spoke big game but now all you do is cry. Even as a ghost you hesitate. Weak. Pathetic.”

Jon shook his head and in complete contrast to his previous disposition, just broke out crying. The same way he did when they were younger. 

“Dami why?! How could you!…. What’s happening!?

Damian leaned up on his elbows to get a closer look, “What sick game are you playing at?” He asked, utterly confused at the spectacle. “Jon?”

But Jon wasn’t looking at him, _not really_.

“D, what? I-Why can’t I- I can’t breathe?”

~

 

Jon flew as fast as he could towards what he could only call, the sound of everything.  _(Yep, Damian would definitely cringe at that one)_.

The sun was setting on the horizon casting an ocean of translucent oranges over the city. He noticed a lot of al Ghul activity on the streets. Agents rounding up what looked like slave masters? There was also a big line of slaves next to a beaten down building just ahead, all waiting to be released by the agents.

“So, computer lady, what’s your name?”

“It’s whatever you want it to be, Jon.”

“Didn’t Damian give you one?”

“He calls me 'computer' but If you mean in a traditional human sense, then no. According to my data, he does not give formal names his creations.”

“I’d feel bad giving you a name, doesn’t seem right.”

“I do not understand, Jon.”

“Um, well you sound like a really nice lady and like usually you give names to pets, not people…

"But I am not a person Jon. "

"Yeah, but...Ok, how about this? What do you think would be the coolest hecking name that I’d pick and you’d also like?”

“Calculation possibilities. Loading. Most probable name: Avis.”

“Oh, that’s perfect! Then, Avis it is! Hi, Avis!”

“Hello, Jon.”

As he got close to his destination, Jon noted that a helicopter was hovering just a few feet above where Damian was located.

"Why was it there?"

On the edge of the helicopter was a news lady talked into a camera, obviously reporting what was happening outside the large building. Curious, he tuned into her voice.

_‘The Daily Planet finds itself today in the midst of a historic moment for the country of Abtens, it seems a coup has taken place by an unknown party…slaves…crowd.’_

Why couldn’t he hear the rest? But before he could find an answer to that, the breaking news stopped. The lady gaped at him, visibly shocked. It didn’t last long because next thing you know she was screaming at the camera guy to ‘point that way you idiot, you’re missing the scoop!’.

News ladies are scary.

He goes around it, suddenly hoping his mom wasn't watching the afternoon news right now. Mostly because of the suit, if he recalls, last time she saw him in it he almost killed someone, that is, until dad stopped him.

So just in case, he also tuned onto his Mom in Metropolis.

She was in the middle of cooking and… talking on the phone? With Jenny, her friend and co-worker, the one with the handicapped dog.

_~‘Did you hear about Cynthia? That Bitch took my spot for the fieldwork in Abst ... I swear…. She…Slept….”_

The whole thing was cutting off (maybe for the better).

Jon grabbed his head, “Ugh, can’t concentrate.”

_‘Thump-_

_thump’_

 It was Damian, he’s all Jon could hear right now. The weird pattern was throwing off his senses. 

_‘Thump-_

_thump’_

_Wait…_

"Something’s wrong.” Damian’s heart rate, it just lowered suddenly? Or was it higher? The thing was all over the place. "Come on, Jon, concentrate!"

_~”The world can burn to the ground for all I care.”_

_~”You don’t even really know me.”_

_~“Stop wasting my time and Just do it you fucking bastard.”_

“Who’s he talking to?”

He tried focusing in as much as possible. But all he got from it was a headache and some dizziness. Nothing.

That’s weird.

“Damian…” It was too sudden…something definitely went wrong on his way there.

This time he kicks it into super speed mode and arrives right above Damian’s location in less than a minute. As he lowered down into the building's roof, Jon noticed a lot of people were gathered in front of it. The crowd mostly consisted of freed slaves, from kids to old people all sitting down in anticipation for something by looks of it. Some agents stood in front of the hall’s main entrance as if the mayor of town would come out any minute.

Meanwhile, many of the free folk were dancing, especially the kids, it was an atmosphere of freedom and celebration. Al Ghul agents also surrounded the area, they seemed to be giving out food and water supplies to whoever asked. He couldn’t help crack a smile at the big bad ninjas looking like charity volunteers. It felt good…to be part of something so...  _good._

 ' _Look up mom, it’s Ra!’_

_‘Ra!’_

_‘Ra has come!’_

_‘Truly, the day has come!’_

Suddenly every slave was staring up at him. Cries of joy burst like a church choir and every man, woman, and child went on their knees. The sun backcasted his shadow over them, which made the whole thing feel like a high production movie set.

“Uhm. Hi?”

_(Is this how it feels to be Dad? Not… bad.)_

He stiffly smiled and waved like those pageant girls that mom liked to watch on TV, and awkwardly disappeared down through the city hall roof, which was conveniently busted open.

Jon landed on bent knees for support and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Oddly exhausted from the whole thing.

“Holy cow!”  Jon gasped as an abrupt wave of putrid air invaded his nose. The sudden movement made him slip and fall face first into a sticky hard-wooden surface.

“Ahh man, Not again!”

His wiped his face from all this darn gunk, letting him clearly discern the source of the heat…a bonfire? But the thing inside, it wasn’t wood?

 _“AHHHHHHHHHHHH.”_ A sudden blood-curdling scream spooked the ever living bejesus out of him.

“HOLY HELL!” He screamed as he slid back off the table right into the wet floor.  It was freaking talking HEAD, no, a BODY, A PERSON burning to a crisp.

“Oh my god, what happened to you!? How are you even alive!? Who did this!?”

_“AHHHHHhhhAAAAhhh.”_

No time for this, save first ask questions later! Quickly, he stood back, inhaled and blew a controlled gust of freeze breath, just strong enough to put out the fire.

How the heck didn’t he noticed a burning man screeching on a table!? Were his senses that off right now?

Jon ran over to him? Her? He didn’t know, it honestly barely looked human. “Who did this!? Are they still here!?”

**_(You know.)_ **

_No answer_. At least there wasn’t any more screaming, just whimpers now…

He hurriedly stood up with fists up, now on max alert. Wait, why are his hands so bloody?

He felt something drip onto his forehead, begging him to look up.

The ceiling. Was red with blood.

Suddenly the whole picture clicked.

If Jon could ever describe what the absolute _deepest_ pits of hell looked like, it would be whatever he was seeing right now. The room in its entirety was splattered with blood and bits of flesh. 

“What…”

**_(You know what.)_ **

It’s happening again, In the dream, in the cemetery and here too, blood followed him. His eyes stung from the stench. He gaged forward while covering his nose, but only spit would come out. His head hurt.

He closed his eyes, hoping to escape the reality of what he was witnessing for just a moment. But the smell didn’t offer him any relief.

“Gods, who...”

**_(You know who.)_ **

_“SHUT UP!”_

_**(Look.)** _

_No. He didn't want to look._

_"Don't make me look..."_

_He knew. Sure, the shock of it all threw him off, but in the back of his head, Jon knew._

He opened his eyes and stared down at an especially thick trail of blood that passed between his legs, one, that until now, he had refused to see.

**(He's right behind you.)**

Jon turned around, following it to its source.

_Even the darkness of the corner where he laid could not hide the amount of death that surrounded him._

And there he was, spread on the bloodied floor, pointing a sword directly to his neck, about to...

“Damian!”

Jon’s head began spinning, unable to process what he was seeing. The ringing was back, full force but he ignored it.

_What? Was this even real life!? In what world would the proud Damian al Ghul attempt to take his own..._

_No time._

_Damian._

_Save._

**Now**   _._

He ran towards him. Or wobbled? He couldn’t tell. The blood on the floor made it hard to keep balance.

He jumped over and managed to stop the sword from reaching Damian's heart. Breaking the slash of katana with his hands was not the best idea, but it’s all he had.

The pain was excruciating, he was sure his fingers were almost sliced off by the dang diabolical sword, but he didn't care about that right now.

“Dami, why?! How- how could you!…. What’s happening!?…

~~“What sick game are you playing?” "Jon?"~~

D, what? I-Why can’t I- I can’t breathe?”

There was no ocean of boiling blood around him anymore, so why did it feel like he was drowning?

.

.

.

**(CAN’T BREATHE.)**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> **-Feedback.**
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> I'm a bit new to fics and writing itself so I would appreciate any constructive critiques. ~
> 
> Other Jondami Works by my favorite authors that you should _really_ check out:
> 
> [The Rest of My Days](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15695988/chapters/36475644)  
> [Here There Be Wonders](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15200036/chapters/35252885)


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